340D 


SIX    CHAPTERS    OF    A    MAN'S    UFE 


UNIV.  OP  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


Six  Chapters  of 
a  Man's  Life 


Bj 
VICTORIA  CROSS 

T  & 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


PREFACE 

THE  following  pages  from  a  human  life  came  into 
my  hands  after  that  life  had  ceased  to  be,  and  from 
the  terrible  story  of  reckless  transgression  and  its 
punishment  contained  in  them,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  Humanity  might  learn  some  of  those  lessons 
which  Life  is  ever  striving  to  teach  it.  If  this  should 
be  so,  the  error  and  the  agony  of  the  one  who  left 
this  short  record  of  wasted  days  will  not  have  been 
wholly  useless.  And  that  this  record  may  stand  a? 
a  lasting  protest  against  all  egoism,  all  love  of  love 
for  the  sake  of  pleasure  to  the  lover,  instead  of  the 
all-glorious  and  selfless  love  which  desires  only  the 
well-being  of  the  loved  one,  is  my  whole  ami  and 
hope  in  presenting  it  to  the  public. 

VICTORIA  CROSS. 


2126212 


SIX   CHAPTERS    OF 
A  MAN'S  LIFE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  charts  were  all  spread  out  upon  the  table; 
the  midnight  gas  burned  steadily  above  myj 
head;  my  pencil  traced  a  dotted  line  down  the 
paper  under  my  hand. 

"What  is  she  like?"  I  asked,  continuing  the 
conversation,  but  without  looking  up  from  the 
maps. 

"She's  called  Theodora." 

"That  does  not  tell  me  mucK.  Do  you 
mean  she  is  like  Gibbon's  Theodora?" 

"Bother  Gibbon!  you  know  I  never  read 
him.  Well,  it's  difficult  to  say  what  she  is  like. 
She  is  tall,  and  with  a  bent-about  sort  of  figure, 
don't  you  know?  I  don't  know  what  you  call 
it.  Features  straight  as  a  billiard  cue,  and  the 
most  thundering  eyes  you  ever  saw;  and  then 
her  eyebrows,  they  start  from  her  nose,  go  up 

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SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

to  the  middle  of  her  forehead  nearly,  and  then 
come  down  to  her  ear!" 

"Dear  me,  what  a  remarkable  person! 
And  I  suppose  you  are  much  smitten  with 
her?" 

"Yes,  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you  that  I 
am ;  but  it's  no  use.  She  does  not  see  anything 
in  me." 

Hardlf  her  fault,  I  thought  involuntarily, 
glancing  over  my  friend's  five  feet  two  of 
stature  and  head  of  reddish  hair. 

"But  I  should  like  to  have  the  kudos  of 
introducing  you  to  her,  I  should  really." 

"What's  the  use?  You  know  women  bore 
me,"  I  said,  leaning  back  in  my  chair  and 
pushing  the  point  of  my  pencil  idly  up  and 
down  the  margin  of  a  map. 

"Yes,  but  I  should  like  you  to  see  this  one. 
She's  so  queer.  I  am  not  asking  you  to  fall 
in  love  with  her.  I  want  you  to  see  her. 
She's  got  a  moustache." 

I  laughed. 

"She'd  be  awfully  flattered  if  she  heard  you 
describing  her,"  I  said.  "I  suppose  you  mean 
a  duvet  imperceptible,  eh?" 

"No,  I  don't  mean  anything  imperceptible," 
returned  Digby  doggedly,  kicking  the  bars  of 
the  grate.  "It's  so  perceptible  that  you  can 

10 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

see  it  all  across  the  room.  It  would  spoil  most 
women  I  know,  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  spoil  her. 
Well,  will  you  come  on  Friday?" 

"I  really  don't  see  any  object,"  I  said 
coldly. 

What  a  bore  he  was,  staying  gossiping  here 
about  his  tiresome  women,  wasting  my  time ! 

"She  said  there  was  not  a  good-looking  man 
in  town.  I  said  I  knew  one.  She  said,  intro- 
duce him,  and  I  promised  I  would.  You  must 
come.  I  am  sure  she'll  like  you." 

"What  a  happiness  for  me!"  I  said  ironic- 
ally. "Well,  all  right  then,  I'll  come"— feel- 
ing I  should  never  get  rid  of  him, — "I'll  be 
there  about  ten.  Now,  good-night,  old  chap; 
I  must  get  on  with  my  work." 

When  he  was  gone  I  resettled  myself  and 
worked  on  for  a  couple  of  hours. 

It  was  rather  peculiar  work  I  was  doing — a 
mixture  of  geography,  archaeology,  and  theory 
of  surveying,  all  combined.  I  had  obtained  a 
commission  from  a  company,  then  only  re- 
cently started,  for  exploring  and  excavating 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  site  of  Ninevah, 
and  it  wanted  only  three  weeks  now  to  the  date 
fixed  for  my  leaving  England.  It  would  not 
by  any  means  be  the  first  time  I  found  myself 
in  the  East.  Nearly  a  fourth  of  my  twenty- 

n 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

eight  years  had  been  spent  there,  and  I  and 
the  East  agreed. 

The  company  for  the  exploration  of  subter- 
raneous Mesopotamia,  as  they  called  them- 
selves, could  not  have  found  a  man  more  suited 
to  their  present  needs  than  myself,  and  in  con- 
sideration of  my  "points"  they  were  going  to 
give  me  generous  terms.  Four  hundred  for 
each  winter  season  for  the  next  three  years 
was  to  be  paid  to  my  private  account,  and  all 
expenses  for  hire  of  workmen,  necessary 
travelling,  and  so  on  were  borne  by  the  com- 
pany. My  actual  appointment  in  their  service 
began  from  the  next  autumn,  that  is  to  say  in 
September,  and  it  was  now  January.  But  I 
was  going  at  once,  partly  from  a  habitual  rest- 
lessness that  always  comes  over  me  when  I 
have  been  long  in  England,  and  partly  be- 
cause I  loved  the  work  I  was  going  to,  and  had 
no  idea  of  grudging  a  few  months'  extra  pros- 
pecting without  pay.  I  was  glad  I  had  ob- 
tained the  post,  and  I  felt  myself  thoroughly 
fitted  for  it.  My  love  for  the  work  and  my 
knowledge  of  the  country  and  the  climate 
were  the  three  advantages  that  weighed 
heaviest,  perhaps,  with  the  company.  It  was 
known  that  I  was  a  sort  of  salamander,  for 
which  it  was  impossible  to  find  an  unendurable 

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A  MAN'S  LIFE 

degree  of  heat.  Even  in  the  full  blaze  of  a 
Mesopotamian  summer  I  had  kept  my  health, 
while  the  Europeans  round  me  had  sickened, 
fled,  or  died.  And  a  man  who  does  not  want 
sick  leave  in  the  middle  of  his  work,  and  who 
has  no  tendency  to  cry  off  when  the  ther- 
mometer rises  over  100°,  is  a  man  to  be  prized. 
Next  in  my  favor  came  my  conversance  with 
the  languages  of  the  East,  and  my  known 
power  of  making  myself  popular  with  every 
class  of  the  natives. 

At  twenty-two,  when  I  had  just  taken  my 
degree  at  Oxford,  my  father  died,  and  a  loose 
five  thousand  came  into  my  hands.  With 
this  five  thousand  I  started  for  the  East  and 
travelled  there,  wandering  where  the  fancy 
took  me,  studying  the  languages,  amusing  my- 
self with  the  various  forms  of  pleasure  that  the 
different  cities  offered  or  permitted,  and  ac- 
quiring a  sympathy  with  the  character  and 
fashions  of  the  East.  At  the  end  of  six 
years  I  came  back  to  England  with  only  a 
hundred  a  year  to  call  my  own,  and  eager  to 
find  some  means  of  supplementing  it.  Thanks 
to  the  influence  of  my  father's  friends,  one  of 
whom  had  a  share  in  the  company,  I  had 
secured  this  post  from  the  Sub.  Mes.  Ex. 
Association,  which  would  see  me  over  the  next 

13 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

three  years,  long  enough  for  me  to  look  ahead. 
I  seldom  did  more  than  consider  the  passing 
hour,  and  tried  to  live  its  sixty  minutes  to 
the  utmost.  I  agreed  not  with  Horace,  who 
bids  us  live  to-day,  but  with  Martial,  who 
warns  us  that  even  to-day  is  late  to  begin,  and 
wise  is  the  man  who  has  lived  yesterday.  And 
these  past  six  years  had  been  an  almost  un- 
broken stretch  of  easy,  careless,  pleasant,  ir- 
responsible existence,  which  had  helped  to 
make  me  what  I  was  now — selfish,  easy-going, 
loose  in  morals,  and  adverse  to  every  sort  of 
restriction,  responsibility,  or  tie,  and  ambition- 
less. 

In  the  East,  where  Death  looks  out  with  the 
eyes  of  fever  from  every  summer  sky,  with  the 
eyes  of  cholera  from  every  stream;  where  a 
death-blow  may  be  in  any  shaft  of  sunlight, 
and  the  poison  of  death  in  any  of  the  faint, 
sickly  odours  in  the  nostrils ;  where  diseases  are 
so  rapid,  and  the  summons  to  the  grave  so  sud- 
den; where  you  dine  with  your  dearest  friend, 
strong  in  health,  at  night  and  before  break- 
1  fast  in  the  morning  you  may  meet  his  cortege 
passing  to  the  burial-ground;  there,  where 
these  things  are,  ambition  wanes,  and  one  falls 
into  the  habit  of  setting  little  store  by  to-mor- 
row. In  England  life  seems  more  secure,  or 

14 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

at  any  rate  one  knows  that  generally  there  is 
a  more  civil  and  elaborate  notice  to  quit,  and 
time  allowed  to  set  one's  house  in  order.  But 
in  the  East  Death  walks  into  the  bungla, 
through  the  front  door  without  knocking, 
ascends  your  stairs  unannounced,  stands  by 
the  bed,  wakes  one  from  sleep  at  midnight, 
taps  once  on  the  shoulder,  and  says  "Come." 
At  dawn  one  is  fast  in  a  coffin  and  feet  deep 
beneath  the  sod,  and  one's  bungla  and  club 
know  him  or  her  no  more.  And  yet  also  in  the 
East,  life  is  so  easy  and  so  pleasant,  the  at- 
tractions in  the  hour  so  strong,  the  stimulus  to 
all  the  senses  so  sharp,  that  it  seems  perpetually 
to  enjoin  the  lesson,  "Enjoy  and  heed  not." 

However,  now  I  honestly  meant  to  work 
hard  in  the  interests  of  the  company.  '  They 
should  have  the  best  of  my  brains  and  my 
labours  through  the  winter.  In  the  summer, 
according  to  the  agreement,  I  was  free  to  re- 
turn to  England,  or,  as  I  probably  should  do, 
to  idle  my  time  away  out  there. 

After  my  two  hours'  read,  I  got  up  and 
stretched  myself,  took  a  turn  round  the  room, 
and  then  came  up  to  lean  my  elbows  on  the 
mantelpiece  and  stare  absently  in  the  glass.  I 
had  a  good  deal  more  information  to  read  up 
in  the  next  three  weeks,  and  each  day  was 

15 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

precious.  What  a  fool  I  had  been  to  promise 
Digby  to  go  to  the  Strong's  on  Friday.  To 
see  this  girl  too!  What  was  the  good  of  that? 
Under  any  circumstances,  merely  to  go  and 
look  at  a  woman  is  always  waste  of  time. 

Digby  was  a  very  tiresome  fellow  with 
women:  not  content  with  perpetually  being  in 
love  with  some  impossible  person  himself,  he 
seemed  to  derive  a  satisfaction  from  coming 
and  pouring  a  description  of  her  charms  and 
beauties  into  my  preoccupied  ears,  and  finally, 
when  assured  of  the  hopelessness  of  his  own 
cause,  he  would  insist  upon  introducing  me  to 
her!  I  don't  know  quite  what  his  idea  was, 
nor  what  he  thought  he  should  gain  if  his  god- 
desses smiled  upon  me,  nor  why  he  was  always 
so  confident  that  they  would.  I  believe  he 
honestly  did  think  I  was  good-looking,  but 
why?  I  asked  myself,  looking  into  the  reflected 
face  before  me.  I  did  not  see  much  attract- 
iveness in  it  myself:  it  was  rather  white  and 
seedy-looking,  with  a  blue  shade  about  the 
eyes,  which  I  said  was  due  to  overwork  and 
liver,  but  which  my  friends  unkindly  ascribed 
to  dissipation.  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  the 
regularity  of  the  features  and  the  straightness 
of  the  lines  that  gave  me  the  title  of  being 
called  decent-looking.  Still,  however  flatter- 

16 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

ing  Digby 's  opinion  of  me  might  be,  I  could 
not  feel  in  charity  with  him  then.  He  had 
already,  since  I  had  come  back  to  England, 
introduced  me  to  two  of  his  temporary  deities 
—women  with  no  possible  attractions  except 
their  pretty,  silly  faces  to  recommend  them, 
and  I  was  not  keen  on  seeing  this  latest  won- 
der. Moreover,  I  was  disinclined  just  then 
for  English  feminine  talk  and  smiles,  and  the 
ways  of  English  society  bored  me.  I  felt  out 
of  joint  with  life  here  altogether,  just  as  my; 
palate  seemed  out  of  taste  with  roast  mutton 
after  the  curries  of  the  East.  I  knew  Mrs. 
Strong,  the  married  sister  of  Theodora, 
slightly,  through  Digby,  who  was  constantly 
at  her  house.  She  was  a  charming  woman  to 
speak  to  and  charming  to  look  at,  and  the 
leader  of  one  of  the  most  fashionable  and 
fastest  sets  in  town. 

Of  the  sister  I  had  not  heard  till  now. 
Digby  told  me  that  when  he  first  knew  the 
Strongs  the  younger  sister  was  in  Paris,  and 
it  was  only  recently,  at  one  of  Mrs.  Strong's 
receptions,  that  he  had  been  introduced  to  her. 
I  recalled  idly  what  Digby  had  said  of  her. 
If  his  description  were  turned  into  more 
polished  and  artistic  language,  I  saw  that  it 
might  be  the  portrait  of  a  beautiful  and 

17 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

peculiar  face.  The  former  quality  had  little 
attraction,  but  I  confess  the  latter  had  some. 
The  new,  the  unusual,  the  unhabitual  in  every- 
thing possessed  a  great  charm  for  me,  and  the 
more  any  object  or  any  emotion  deviated  from 
the  orthodox  standard  the  greater  the  attrac- 
tion it  had  for  me.  Still,  at  that  time  my 
work  was  paramount  with  me,  and  time  valu- 
able, and  I  concluded  I  had  been  a  fool  to  say 
I  would  spare  an  evening  even  to  see  a  curi- 
osity. With  this  reflection  I  turned  the  gas 
out  and  went  into  bed. 


18 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  late  when  I  reached  the  Strong's  on 
Friday.  I  had  been  at  work  all  day,  and  had 
felt  greatly  disinclined  to  come  at  all;  should 
not  have  done  so  but  that  I  had  promised 
Digby.  I  had  been  disturbed  by  the  conflict- 
ing theories  I  had  been  reading  as  to  the  worth 
of  the  latest  excavations,  and  these  were  drift- 
ing about  in  my  mind  as  I  walked  up  the  red 
carpeted  steps  into  the  hall.  The  dancing  had 
begun;  in  fact,  I  entered  the  room  in  the 
middle  of  a  waltz.  The  light  and  movement 
helped  me  to  pull  myself  together,  and  a  faint 
feeling  of  interest  began  to  stir  in  me  as  I 
remembered  I  had  to  look  for  a  particular 
face.  I  took  my  stand  by  the  door  where  I 
had  entered,  at  the  end  of  the  room,  and  noted 
the  couples  as  they  came  down  towards,  and 
then  passed  me.  I  knew  I  must  recognise 
Theodora  by  her  peculiarity,  and  I  scanned 
the  upper  lip  of  all  the  girls  who  passed,  but 
without  result.  I  was  beginning  to  think  she 
could  not  be  in  the  room,  when  my  eyes  were 

19 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

suddenly  attracted,  for  no  reason  that  I  was 
conscious  of,  from  the  ring  of  dancers  pass- 
ing round  and  round  the  room  to  some  in  the 
centre.  And  there,  coming  down  the  middle 
of  the  room,  under  the  full  flood  of  light,  was 
the  face  I  was  looking  for.  My  attention  was 
so  riveted  upon  the  face  that  I  was  not  con- 
scious of  what  figure  belonged  to  it,  nor  did  I 
see  the  shoulders  that  bore  it.  It  might  have 
been  floating  down  towards  me  on  the  stream 
of  light.  What  a  face  it  was,  too!  White, 
so  that  it  looked  blanched  under  the  pale, 
changeful,  electric  light,  and  lent  a  curious  lus- 
tre by  its  gleaming,  brilliant,  swimming  eyes. 
The  mouth  was  a  delicate  curve  of  the  bright- 
est scarlet,  and  above,  on  the  upper  lip,  was 
the  sign  I  looked  for,  a  narrow,  glossy,  black 
line.  It  was  a  handsome  face  of  course,  but 
that  alone  would  not  have  excited  my  par- 
ticular attention.  One  sees  so  many  hand- 
some faces.  But  such  a  tremendous  force  of 
intellect  sat  on  the  brow,  even  amongst  the 
fashionably  fuzzed  curls,  such  a  curious  fire 
shone  in  the  scintillating  eyes,  and  such  a 
peculiar  half -male  character  invested  the  whole 
countenance,  that  I  felt  violently  attracted  to 
it  merely  from  its  peculiarity.  The  room  round 
me  seemed  to  vanish  into  a  mere  whirl  of 

20 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

chaotic  light  and  colour,  sound  rose  and  fell 
unheeded  in  the  distance.  That  face  and  I 
seemed  left  alone  swimming  in  a  sea  of  light. 
It  was  only  for  a  second,  and  then  I  heard 
Digby's  voice  saying  at  my  elbow  in  an  excited 
whisper : 

"There  she  is!  Now  don't  you  think  she's 
a  stunner?  I  can  introduce  you  in  a  minute. 
The  waltz  is  just  over." 

"She  is  certainly  handsome,"  I  said  quietly. 
And  I  felt  almost  sorry,  as  she  came  up,  that 
I  was  going  to  be  introduced.  She  is  prob- 
ably in  reality  some  silly  ingenue  like  the  rest, 
I  thought,  with  only  two  ideas  in  her  head,  and 
those  idiotic  ones.  The  moment  she  speaks 
the  effect  of  her  face  will  be  spoiled. 

As  Digby  murmured,  "This  is  my  friend, 
Mr.  Cecil  Ray,"  I  noticed  that  she  did  not 
incline  her  head  in  the  prescribed  formal  bow. 
Her  eyes  searched  over  my  face,  and  an  extra 
light  seemed  to  flash  from  their  pale,  gleaming 
iris.  Then  I  saw  the  vermilion  bow  of  the 
mouth  quiver  and  break  up  in  a  soft  smile,  and 
I  heard  her  say — 

"You've  won  your  bet,  Digby.  I'll  send 
you  those  cigars!" 

Fast,  I  thought  at  once,  in  the  hasty,  un- 
considered  way  one  jumps  to  conclusions. 

£1 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

But  the  voice  was  attractive;  light  in  timbre, 
and  one  felt  it  would  be  capable  of  any  num- 
ber of  inflections.  I  asked  her  if  she  could 
spare  me  a  dance. 

"Easily,"  she  answered.  "The  present  one, 
if  you  like." 

"Would  you  like  to  dance,  or  are  you  tired?" 
I  asked. 

Now  that  she  was  close  to  me,  I  saw  how 
delicate  she  looked,  the  effect  of  her  white  skin 
and  the  nervous,  sensitive  dilation  of  the  eyes. 

"I  should  like  the  rest,"  she  said  at  once; 
"let's  sit  it  out." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm,  and  we  turned 
into  a  sort  of  short  corridor  on  our  left,  where 
there  were  some  settees.  It  was  lighted  by 
stone  statues  with  lamps  in  their  hands,  placed 
at  intervals  down  it.  She  took  her  seat  just 
under  one  of  these,  and  I  drew  my  settee  up 
beside  her.  The  light  came  straight  down  on 
her  head  from  the  lamp  in  the  statue's  hand — 
a  statue  of  Bacchus — and  I  could  not  help 
thinking  her  face  was  rather  like  the  one  in 
stone  above  her.  I  did  not  trouble  to  speak. 
I  just  sat  and  watched  her,  and  waited  with  a 
mild  curiosity  to  hear  whether  she  would  say 
anything  worth  listening  to.  There  is  an  un- 
questionable charm  in  being  in  the  society  of 

22 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

people  for  whose  opinion  you  don't  care  in  the 
least — when  you  are  absolutely  indifferent  as 
to  what  impression  you  produce.  I  felt  no 
desire  to  please  this  girl,  nor  did  I  care  whether 
she  set  me  down  as  a  perfect  fool.  I  had 
come  to  see  her,  and  she  was  certainly  well 
worth  seeing ;  but  what  she  thought  of  me  was 
not  of  the  least  consequence.  It  was  too  much 
trouble  to  talk  the  ordinary  society  twaddle, 
and  I  did  not  suppose  she  would  understand 
or  care  for  anything  else ;  so  I  remained  silent. 

"Why  do  you  keep  looking  up  to  this  thing 
over  my  head?"  she  asked  suddenly,  catching 
my  eyes. 

"I  was  thinking  how  similar  the  face  was  to 
yours,"  I  answered. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  turning  her  head  so 
that  she  could  see  it,  and  looking  up  to  the 
nude  figure,  with  its  goat-skin  on  one  shoulder 
and  the  vine  twisted  round  its  head. 

"Oh,  Dionysus!  rather  a  disreputable  indi- 
vidual to  resemble." 

"What  do  you  know  about  Dionysus?"  I 
asked  with  a  laugh  as  she  leaned  back  again. 

"As  much,  I  should  think,  and  as  little  as 
anybody  does." 

"Have  you  had  a  classical  training,  then?"  I 
asked  in  some  surprise,  looking  at  the  beauti* 

28 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

ful,  tight-laced,  fashionable  figure,  the  small, 
high-heeled  shoes,  and  the  fast-looking,  arti- 
ficial darkening  of  the  eyes.  She  hardly 
looked  like  a  votary  of  study.  She  nodded,  as 
if  not  caring  to  pursue  the  subject. 

"And  who  are  your  favourite  authors?"  I 
asked — "Martial  and  Aristophanes?" 

I  half  thought  that  she  would  openly  resent 
the  veiled  insult  in  my  words,  and  I  wanted  to 
see  her  look  indignant.  Theodora,  however, 
only  laughed. 

"That  means,  I  suppose,  they  are  yours!"  she 
answered.  "I  don't  mind  them.  They  have 
each  said  very  perfect  things,  but  I  should  not 
call  them  my  favourites." 

"And  do  you  find  nothing  to  condemn  in 
ancient  literature  as  a  whole?"  I  said,  looking 
at  her. 

A  faint  flush  rose  in  either  cheek,  but  the 
luminous,  intelligent  eyes  met  mine  quite  un- 
con  fused. 

"Oh,  I  don't  go  in  for  condemning  things. 
I  read,  and  I  see  what  the  fellow  has  to  say.  I 
am  not  bound  to  agree.  And  then,  of  course, 
whether  I  do  not  approve — well,  tout  com- 
prendre  c'est  tout  pardonner;  and  the  same 
principle  holds  in  life  too." 

I  rather  liked  her  for  this  last  speech.     She 

24 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

was  evidently  not  the  ordinary  ingenue,  and  I 
felt  vaguely  interested. 

"But  independently  of  condemning,  I  sup- 
pose there  are  things  you  dislike — personally?" 

"Oh,  of  course;  yes,  there  is  one  thing  I 
detest." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Priggishness." 

I  laughed,  and  so  did  she — a  gay,  high  laugh 
that  went  echoing  down  the  corridor. 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two,  and 
then  she  said,  "Would  you  like  to  smoke? 
You  may  if  you  like.  I  don't  mind." 

"You  smoke  yourself?"  I  said. 

"I  do.  Does  that  shock  you?  Some  men 
think  it  fearful  impropriety." 

"I  am  not  easily  shocked,  and  I  like— 

I  was  going  to  say  impropriety,  but  I 
thought  perhaps  I  was  hardly  justified,  and  I 
changed  it  to  "unconventionally." 

"Have  you  ever  written  anything?"  I  asked. 

"No;  it  would  be  of  no  use  with  my  laxity  of 
opinions.  I  should  only  get  bullyragged  by 
all  the  reviewers;  and  I  have  no  thirst  for  the 
'glory  that  lives  after  men ;'  and  in  this  present 
life— well,  I  have  all." 

A  strikingly  arrogant  look  came  over  the 
pale  face,  and  I  laughed. 

25 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"Take  care!"  I  said.  "As  a  classic  scholar 
you  certainly  should  be  afraid  to  say  such  a 
thing.  Just  such  a  speech  as  to  excite  the 


The  next  minute  I  was  sorry  I  had  said  the 
words,  for  she  seemed  to  turn  paler  and  shiver, 
and  she  answered  impulsively,  "Yes,  I  was 
wrong  to  say  that  ;  but,  after  all,  the  gods  have 
no  need  to  envy  me.  I  am  not  at  all  happy. 
There  is  one  thing  wanting  in  my  life  —  the 
one  thing  to  spoil  all  and  guard  me  from  the 
danger  of  too  perfect  good  fortune.  I  am 
very  lonely  —  I  have  no  companion." 

"And  what  would  be  the  necessary  qualifica- 
tions for  a  man  to  have  to  attain  that  honour?" 
I  said  mockingly,  catching  her  own  cynical 
tone  of  a  few  minutes  back.  "For  I  suppose 
you  don't  contemplate  a  woman  in  the  posi- 
tion?" 

"Intellect,"  returned  Theodora  simply. 

"Intellect!"  I  repeated,  with  my  eyes  on 
hers.  "What  do  you  want  intellect  in  a  man 
for?" 

I  had  gone  just  a  little  too  far,  possibly 
more  in  the  tones  than  the  words,  or  perhaps  in 
the  eyes  that  met  hers.  She  looked  away  f  ron? 
me  and  said  coldly— 

"That  is  an  exceedingly  rude  remark." 
26 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"Not  at  all,"  I  said,  recovering  myself. 
"You  would  have  enough  for  both." 

"Well  turned,"  said  Theodora  with  a  laugh, 
and  I  felt  she  had  forgiven  me. 

"And  would  looks  have  no  influence  with 
you?"  I  went  on  jestingly. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Theodora  answered  quietly,  and 
not  looking  at  me;  "looks  have  a  tremendous 
influence,  but  I  don't  think  they  are  much 
good  unless  backed  up  by  the  sort  of  brain 
that  happens  to  please  one's  own." 

"Pray  describe  the  particular  sort  that 
would  be  in  your  case,"  I  said,  watching  her 
carefully  under  decorously  drooped  lids.  She 
had  a  beautifully  lined  and  planned  figure — 
a  form  that  any  man  would  like  to  see  expand 
and  grow  tense  with  passion  for  himself. 

"Personally,  I  like  some  one  who  looks  at 
everything  from  an  entirely  intellectual  point 
of  view,  who,  in  judging  anything,  has  no  bias 
of  any  sort ;  such,  I  mean,  as  a  religious  person 
or  a  moralist  would  have." 

"Do  you  mean  you  have  no  religion  and  no 
morality?"  I  asked,  laughing  outright. 

Theodora  looked  at  me  distrustfully  for  a 
second  or  two,  and  then  said— 

"I  think  we  had  better  change  the  subject. 
There  is  no  good  in  telling  you  these  things. 

27 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

You  will  only  talk  them  all  over  the  place,  and 
while  I  am  in  this  society  it  is  easiest  and 
simplest  to  conform  to  its  ways  and  never 
mention  personal  views.  I  never  do.  I  don't 
know,  I  am  sure,  how  we  drifted  into  the  sub- 
ject now." 

"Because  it  is  congenial  to  both  of  us,"  I 
said  hastily;  "that  must  be  it.  Go  on,  I  like 
to  hear  you.  I  swear  I  won't  repeat  a  word; 
and  as  for  myself,  I  have  no  religion  and  no 
morals  to  boast  of,  so  I  am  quite  in  with  you." 

"What  one  feels,"  she  answered  lightly, 
"with  both  religion  and  morality  is  that  there 
is  no  absoluteness  about  either.  Both  are 
merely — as,  of  course,  has  been  said  heaps  of 
times — things  of  time  and  place;  both  vary 
directly  with  the  latitude.  How  can  one  be 
either  religious  or  moral  all  through  one's  life 
if  one  travels,  for  instance?  Granted  that  in 
England  I  am  a  Christian,  a  very  religious 
person — that  is  to  say,  I  think  as  thirty  mil- 
lions of  co-Christians  think.  I  cross  into 
India.  There,  amongst  two  hundred  and  fifty 
millions  of  Mahomedans  and  Hindus,  I  am 
most  irreligious.  Another  example: — I  am 
chaste  and  moral  leaving  the  shores  of  Scot- 
land, but  I  am  profligate  and  abandoned  when 
I  touch  the  shore  of  Formosa.  I  have  not 

28 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

altered,  but  Scot  and  Formosan  do  not  agree 
on  that  most  changeable  of  all  fashions — vir- 
tue. And  who  is  to  say  which  is  the  better — 
Scot  or  Formosan?  In  one  country  it  is  en- 
joined by  religion  and  morality  to  respect  one's 
aged  parents,  in  another  to  eat  them.  If  I 
want  to  be  religious  and  moral  what  am  I  to 
do,  respect  them  or  eat  them?  Or  must  I 
respect  the  one,  say  in  England,  in  deference 
to  one  set  of  opinions,  and  eat  the  other  in 
deference  to  another  set  in  another  country  a 
few  hundred  miles  off?  Then  too,  a  custom, 
polygamy  say,  for  instance,  highly  fashionable 
and  passing  under  the  name  of  innocent  pleas- 
ure in  one  nation,  is  abhorred  as  a  crime  by 
another.  Millions  call  it  the  one,  millions  call 
it  the  other.  How  do  you  settle  which  it  is? 
Why  should  I  call  it  a  crime  here  because 
others  do,  when,  if  I  go  into  Turkey,  I  am 
told  it  is  not  a  crime?  What  reason  had  I  for 
saying  it  was  a  crime?  Only  because  it  was 
the  fashion  to  say  so?  Very  good.  Then 
when  I  go  elsewhere  that  reason  is  null.  I  con- 
demned it  because  others  did  then;  now,  when 
I  am  in  Turkey,  am  I  to  accept  it  because 
others  do  ?  Commit  it  merrily  while  I  am  here, 
and  then  pick  up  a  holy  horror  and  just  loath- 
ing of  it  again  when  I  move  a  few  miles 

£9 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

farther  into  a  country  where  it  is  not  in  vogue? 
You  would  say,  I  suppose,  'Oh,  well,  you  must 
pick  up  some  religion  and  stick  to  it.'  Very 
well,  but  then  which,  and  why?  All  seem 
about  on  a  level:  how  can  you  decide  which  is 
better  than  the  other?  And  if  you  admit  they 
are  all  equal,  then  why  take  any  particular 
man  as  a  model?  Why  say  I  will  think  as 
Mahomet  thought,  and  do  as  he  directs ;  I  will 
deny  myself  this  and  that  because  Christ, 
Mahomet,  Buddha,  Zoroaster,  or  Moses  says 
one  should?  It  seems  so  awfully  funny." 

I  had  listened  to  this  in  silence.  It  is  de- 
lightful to  hear  one's  own  thoughts  echoed 
suddenly  in  another's  voice,  to  see  them  mir- 
rored in  another's  brain,  at  least  to  me.  "And 
so?"  I  said  now,  as  she  paused,  "the  conclu- 
sion?" 

"Only,  having  all  that  in  one's  mind,  the  ir- 
reconcilability of  creeds  and  morals  prevents 
one  caring  about  any.  I  have  only  one  prin- 
ciple, I  think,  to  guide  me — to  avoid  inflicting 
injury  on  another.  But  as  for  vice,  crime,  sin, 
virtue,  morality,  belief,  religion,  they  are  all 
mere  names  to  me." 

"I  thought  you  were  an  ingenue"  I  said, 
leaning  forward  and  looking  with  a  smile  into 

30 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

the  bright,  clever  face.  "I  need  not  have  been 
afraid,  need  I?" 

"You  would  probably  have  liked  an  ingenue 
much  better;  most  men  do,"  she  answered  with 
a  soft,  sparkling  smile. 

"I  don't,"  I  said  emphatically,  looking  down 
at  the  arm  and  hand  from  which  she  had  drawn 
the  glove  as  she  talked,  feeling  instinctively 
certain  that  she  as  yet  had  no  real  knowledge 
of  vice  though  she  spoke  so  glibly  of  it. 

What  is  that  indefinable  something  in  inno- 
cence that  proclaims  itself  to  a  man?  Like  a 
subtle  odour,  like  a  faint  current  or  a  pale 
light  diffused  in  the  air  of  which  one  is  but 
just  conscious,  it  makes  itself  felt  by  us,  and 
comes  home  to  us,  though  we  have  no  proof 
and  no  knowledge. 

"And  so,  going  back  to  where  we  started 
from,  the  question  of  companionship,  it's  most 
difficult,"  she  continued.  "I  hate  being  with 
a  person  with  whom  I  feel  gence.  It  is  dread- 
ful to  feel  that  one  cannot  say  this,  and  must 
not  say  that,  for  fear  of  shocking  their  preju- 
dices. It  is  such  a  bore.  And  then  to  listen 
to  them  is  so  irritating,  when  they  talk  religion 
and  this  belief  and  that  belief,  when  oneself 
has  no  belief ;  or  to  hear  them  referring  to  this 

Si 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

moral  law  and  that  moral  law  for  conduct  and 
action,  when  one  recognises  none.  It  seems 
such  nonsense.  Just  as  if  life  were  not  hard 
enough  and  dreary  enough  without  inventing 
tiresome  restrictions  and  rules  for  oneself.  So 
long  as  one  acts  honourably  and  steers  clear  of 
hurting  anybody  else,  what  can  it  matter  what 
one  does  ?  That  is  why  I  admire  the  old  Pagan 
religion  so  much.  It  enjoins  nothing,  forbids 
nothing;  its  only  precept  was — Enjoy." 

"I  don't  think  you  feel  very  genee  with  me, 
do  you?"  I  said. 

"No;  not  at  all.  But  still  I  fancy  you  don't 
think  particularly  well  of  me  for  what  I  have 
said,"  she  answered. 

"On  the  contrary,"  I  said,  growing  serious, 
"I  have  liked  all  you  have  said.  I  know  ex- 
actly what  you  mean.  I  have  felt  it  myself 
often.  A  sort  of  restraint,  a  being  gene,  as 
you  say.  I  thought  I  had  contracted  my  loose- 
ness of  morals  in  the  East.  I  certainly  feel 
more  at  home  there  now  in  every  way  than  I  do 
amongst  English  people — that  is  to  say,  gen- 
erally," I  added  with  a  smile,  and  looked  at 
her.  "I  have  felt  delightfully  at  ease  here  to- 
night.' 

"Have  you?  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said  im- 
pulsively, and  then  we  were  both  silent.  "I 

32 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

hate  iconoclasts  and  puritans,  and  people  like 
that  old  fool  Wesley,  don't  you?"  she  said, 
after  a  minute.  "Fancy,  I  mean,  destroying 
a  statue  simply  because  it  was  nude!  That  is 
the  spirit  I  dislike  so  much.  I  should  consider 
simply  whether  the  thing  were  well  executed 
of  its  kind  or  not,  and  if  it  were  draped  or  un- 
draped,  what  does  it  matter?  Everything  that 
helps  to  make  life  more  pleasant,  more  beau- 
tiful, and  more  complex,  I  like.  Laughter, 
and  beauty,  and  art,  and  simplicity  in  nothing ! 
To  be  simple,  and  humble,  and  moderate!  the 
Christian  virtues — good  heavens!  Just  as  if 
all  the  pleasure  we  can  possibly  get  in  lif  e  was 
not  moderate  enough!" 

I  looked  at  the  fugitive,  scarlet  tint  in  the 
pale  cheeks,  at  the  sweep  of  the  thick  eyelids 
over  the  scintillating  eyes,  and  the  line  of  the 
slight  hip  under  her  white  silk  skirt,  and  said 
in  a  low  tone — 

"I  think  there  may  be  some  pleasures  which 
are  not  so  very  moderate." 

Her  eyes  rested  on  mine  in  rather  a  startled 
way  for  a  second,  and  then  a  step  came  down 
the  corridor.  It  broke  in  abruptly  on  us,  and 
we  both  started  and  turned  suddenly  as  if  we 
had  been  found  in  a  most  compromising  situ- 
ation. We  must  have  been  sitting  there  some 

83 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

time ;  it  was  wonderful  we  had  not  been  inter- 
rupted before. 

"Your  partner,  I  think,  coming  to  claim 
you,"  I  said  as  the  figure  came  down  the  pas- 
sage evidently  to  our  seat.  We  both  got  up, 
and  I  took  her  hand  as  we  stood  by  the  statue 
of  the  god  of  licence  and  clasped  it  hard.  It 
was  a  very  curious  hand,  so  extremely  soft 
that  as  my  fingers  closed  tighter  and  tighter 
over  it,  it  seemed  to  yield  and  yield  and  col- 
lapse more  and  more  like  a  piece  of  velvet 
within  one's  grasp.  Where  were  its  own  bones 
and  muscles,  its  own  strength  and  will?  I 
tried  to  find  them  by  pressing  it  to  my  utmost, 
but  it  only  sank,  soft  and  burning,  deeper  into 
my  palm  and  lay  there  till  I  released  it.  As 
it  slid  from  me  to  her  side  again  I  felt  vaguely 
that  I  was  in  the  chains  of  a  freshly-sprung 
passion.  A  dozen  other  men  might  clasp  that 
hand  in  the  evening  unmoved  and  perceive  no 
difference  in  it  from  any  other;  but  in  me  the 
languid  touch  and  the  heat  of  the  strengthless 
fingers  seemed  to  appeal  to  every  nerve  in  my 
own  frame  and  excite  them  to  response.  Was 
not  the  hand  an  index  to  the  whole  form?  I 
thought  as  my  eyes  glanced  up  the  arm, 
rounded  and  supple  and  boneless,  to  the  soft 
shoulder  and  the  melting  whiteness  of  the  neck 

34 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

where  I  saw  one  pulse  beat  slowly.  A  sudden, 
dizzy  longing  to  test  it  came  over  me,  to  draw 
the  whole  into  my  arms.  Would  not  the  whole 
figure,  resistless  and  unresisting,  lean,  sink, 
melt  into  them,  as  the  hand  into  my  soul? 
Bali!  Digby  ought  to  be  hanged  for  intro- 
ducing me  to  her ! 

"Will  you  come  and  see  me  to-morrow?"  and 
each  word,  as  she  said  it,  was  like  a  caress. 

"I  shall  be  greatly  honoured,"  I  murmured, 
and  we  parted  with  a  sense — and  I  think  it  was 
on  either  side — of  an  already  greater  intimacy 
than  an  hour's  acquaintanceship  justified.  I 
went  down  the  corridor,  passing  by  the  en- 
trance to  the  rooms  and  out  into  the  streets,  and 
went  back  to  my  chambers.  I  took  a  turn  up 
and  down  my  rooms,  thinking  over  what  the 
girl  had  said,  and  above  all  of  her  personality. 
She  was  peculiar  certainly  in  every  way,  and, 
contrary  to  the  average  Englishman,  I  liked 
peculiarity.  And  that  intense  nervous  and 
physical  excitability  that  I  read  in  the  dilated 
eyes  enlisted  my  sympathies;  perhaps  because 
my  own  nerves  always  seemed  strung  to  an 
unnatural  pitch,  like  the  overtuned  strings  of 
an  instrument — the  result  partly,  no  doubt,  of 
an  irregular,  ill-ordered  life,  and  partly  of  fits 
of  overwork,  and  principally  of  the  organi- 

35 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

sation  with  which  I  had  been  cursed  on  entering 
the  world.  Cursed  truly,  for  the  phlegmatic 
fellow  who  goes  through  life  without  ever 
knowing  he  has  a  nervous  system  is  the  man 
to  be  envied.  The  rooms  got  too  small  and  the 
atmosphere  too  oppressive  after  a  time,  and  I 
turned  out  again  to  find  my  friend  Thompson 
and  get  a  game  of  billiards  out  of  him.  It 
was  four  in  the  morning  when  I  returned,  and 
then  not  to  sleep,  merely  to  toss  about  and  see 
everywhere  in  the  darkness  of  the  room  a  char- 
coal-blackened eye  and  a  very  white,  slight, 
boneless  arm. 


36 


CHAPTER  III 

I  DID  not  turn  out  of  bed  till  ten  o'clock  the 
next  morning,  and  I  was  still  in  dressing-gown 
and  slippers,  sitting  by  the  fire  looking  over  a 
map,  when  Digby  came  in  upon  me. 

"Hullo,  Ray,  only  just  up,  eh?  as  usual," 
was  his  first  exclamation  as  he  came  in,  his 
ulster  buttoned  up  to  his  chin  and  the  snow 
thick  upon  his  boots.  "What  a  fellow  you 
are !  I  can't  understand  anybody  lying  in  bed 
till  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"And  I  can't  understand  anybody  driving 
up  at  seven,"  I  said,  smiling  and  stirring  my 
coffee  idly.  I  had  laid  down  the  map  with 
resignation.  I  knew  Digby  had  come  round 
to  jaw  for  the  next  hour  at  least.  "Can  I 
offer  you  some  breakfast?" 

"Breakfast!"  returned  Digby,  contemptu- 
ously. "No,  thanks;  I  had  mine  hours  ago. 
Well,  what  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"Of  whom?  this  Theodora?" 

"Oh,  it's  Theodora  already,  is  it?"  said 
Digby,  looking  at  me.  "Well,  never  mind,  go 
on.  Yes,  what  do  you  think  of  her?" 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"She  seems  rather  clever,  I  think." 

"Do  you?"  returned  Digby,  with  a  distinct 
accent  of  regret,  as  if  I  had  told  him  I  thought 
she  squinted.  "I  never  noticed  it.  But  her 
looks,  I  mean." 

"She  is  very  peculiar."     I  said. 

"But  you  like  everything  extraordinary;  I 
should  have  thought  that  was  just  what  would 
have  attracted  you." 

"So  it  does,"  I  admitted,  "so  much  so  that 
I  am  going  to  take  the  trouble  of  calling  this 
afternoon  expressly  to  see  her  again." 

Digby  stared  hard  at  me  for  a  minute,  and 
then  burst  out  laughing,  "By  Jove!  you've 
made  good  use  of  your  time.  Did  she  ask 
you?" 

"She  did,"  I  said. 

"This  looks  as  if  it  would  be  a  case,"  re- 
marked Digby  lightly,  and  then  added,  "I'd 
have  given  anything  to  have  had  her  myself, 
but  if  it's  not  to  be  for  me,  I'd  rather  you  be 
the  lucky  one  than  any  one  else." 

"Don't  you  think  all  that  is  a  little  pre- 
vious?" I  said  satirically,  looking  at  him  over 
the  coffee  which  stood  on  the  maps  of  Mesopo- 
tamia. 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  You  must  marry 
some  time,  Cecil." 

88 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"Really?"  I  said,  raising  my  eyebrows  and 
regarding  him  with  increased  amusement. 
"I  think  I  have  heard  of  men  remaining  celi- 
bates before  now,  especially  men  with  my 
tastes." 

"Yes,"  said  Digby,  becoming  suddenly  as 
serious  and  thoughtful  as  if  he  were  being 
called  upon  to  consider  some  weighty  problem, 
of  which  the  solution  must  be  found  in  the 
next  ten  minutes.  "I  don't  know  how  you 
would  agree.  She  is  an  awfully  religious 
girl." 

"Indeed?"  I  said,  with  a  laugh,  "how  do 
you  know?" 

Digby  thought  hard. 

"She  is,"  he  said,  with  conviction  at  last.  "I 
see  her  at  church  every  Sunday." 

"Oh,  then,  of  course  she  must  be — proof 
conclusive,"  I  answered. 

Digby  looked  at  me,  and  then  grumbled, 
"Confounded  sneering  fellow  you  are.  Has 
she  been  telling  you  she  is  not?" 

I  remembered  suddenly  that  I  had  promised 
Theodora  not  to  repeat  her  opinions,  so  I  only 
said,  "I  really  don't  know  what  she  is;  she 
may  be  most  devout  for  all  I  know — or  care." 

"Of  course,  you  can  profess  to  be  quite  in- 
different," said  Digby,  ungraciously.  "But 

39 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

all  I  can  say  is,  it  doesn't  look  like  it,  your  go- 
ing there  this  afternoon,  and  any  way  she  is 
not  indifferent  to  you;  she  said  all  sorts  of 
flattering  things  about  you." 

"Very  kind,  I  am  sure,"  I  murmured  de- 
risively. 

"And  she  sent  round  to  my  rooms  this  morn- 
ing a  thundering  box  of  Havanahs  in  recog- 
nition of  my  having  won  the  bet  about  your 
looks." 

I  laughed  outright. 

"That's  rather  good  'biz'  for  you:  the  least 
you  can  do  is  to  let  me  help  in  the  smoking 
of  them,  I  think." 

"Of  course  I  will;  but  it  shows  what  she 
thinks  of  you,  doesn't  it?" 

"Oh,  most  convincingly,"  I  said  with 
mock  earnestness.  "Havanahs  are  expensive 
things." 

"But  you  know  how  awfully  rich  she  is, 
don't  you?"  asked  Digby,  looking  at  me  as  if 
he  wanted  to  find  out  whether  I  were  really 
ignorant,  or  affecting  to  be  so. 

"My  dear  Charlie,  you  know  I  know  noth- 
ing whatever  about  her  except  what  you  tell 
me;  or  do  you  suppose  she  showed  me  her 
banking  account  between  the  dances?" 

40 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"Don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  Digby  grumbled 
back.  "You  sat  in  that  passage  long  enough 
to  be  going  through  a  banking  account,  and 
balancing  it  too,  for  that  matter!  However, 
the  point  is,  she  is  rich — tons  of  money — over 
six  thousand  a  year." 

"Really?"  I  said,  to  say  something. 

"Yes;  but  she  loses  every  penny  on  her 
marriage.  Seems  such  a  funny  way  to  leave 
money  to  a  girl,  doesn't  it?  Some  old  pig  of 
a  maiden  aunt  tied  it  up  in  that  way.  Nasty 
thing  to  do,  I  think,  don't  you?" 

"Very  immoral  of  the  old  lady,  it  seems. 
A  girl  like  that,  if  she  can't  marry,  will  prob- 
ably forego  nothing  but  the  ceremony." 

"She  runs  the  risk  of  losing  her  money 
though  if  anything  were  known;  she  only  has 
it  dum  casta  manet,  just  like  a  separation  al- 
lowance." 

"Hard  lines,"  I  murmured  sympathetically. 

"And  so,  of  course,  her  people  are  anxious 
she  should  make  a  good  match — take  some 
man,  I  mean,  with  an  income  equal  to  what 
she  has  now  of  her  own,  so  that  she  would 
not  feel  any  loss.  Otherwise,  you  see,  if  she 
married  a  poor  man  it  would  be  rather  a  severe 
drop  for  her." 

41 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"Conditions  calculated  to  prevent  any  fel- 
low but  a  millionaire  proposing  to  her,  I  should 
think,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  except  that  she  is  a  girl  who  does  not 
care  about  money.  She  has  been  out  now 
three  seasons,  and  had  one  or  two  good  chances 
and  not  taken  them.  Now  myself,  for  in- 
stance, if  she  wanted  money  and  position  and 
so  on,  she  could  hardly  do  better,  could  she? 
And  my  family  and  the  rest  of  it  are  all  right. 
But  she  couldn't  get  over  my  red  hair ;  I  know 
it  was  that.  She's  mad  upon  looks.  I  know 
she  is ;  she  let  it  out  to  me  once ;  and  I  bet  you 
anything  she'd  take  you  and  chuck  over  her 
money  and  everything  else  if  you  gave  her 
the  chance." 

"I  am  certainly  not  likely  to,"  I  answered. 
"All  this  you  have  just  told  me  alone  would 
be  enough  to  choke  me  off.  I  have  always 
thought  I  could  never  love  a  decent  woman 
unselfishly  enough,  even  if  she  gave  up  noth- 
ing for  me;  and,  great  heavens,  I  should  be 
sorry  to  value  myself  at — what  do  you  say  she 
has? — six  thousand  a  year." 

"Leave  the  woman  who  falls  in  love  with  the 
cut  of  your  nose  to  do  the  valuation.  You'll 
be  surprised  at  the  figure,"  said  Digby  with 
a  touch  of  resentful  bitterness,  and  getting  up 

42 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

abruptly.  "I'll  look  around  in  the  erening," 
he  added,  buttoning  up  his  overcoat.  "Going 
to  be  in?" 

"As  far  as  I  know,"  I  answered,  and  he  left. 

I  got  up  and  dressed  leisurely,  thinking  over 
what  he  had  said,  and  those  words,  "six  thou- 
sand," repeating  themselves  unpleasantly  in 
my  brain. 

It  was  rather  late  for  strict  formality  when 
I  foand  myself  on  the  steps  of  her  house. 
The  room  I  was  shown  into  was  large,  much 
too  large  to  be  comfortable  on  such  a  day,  and 
I  had  to  thread  my  way  through  a  perfect 
maze  of  gilt-legged  tables  and  statuette-bear- 
ing tripods  before  I  reached  the  hearth.  Here 
burned  a  small,  quiet,  chaste-looking  fire,  a 
sort  of  Vestal  flame,  whose  heat  was  lost  upon 
the  tessellated  tiles,  white  marble,  and  polished 
brass  about  it.  I  stood  looking  down  at  it  ab- 
sently for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  Theodora 
came  in.  She  was  very  simply  dressed  in  some 
dark  stuff  that  fitted  closely  to  her,  and  let 
me  see  the  harmonious  lines  of  her  figure  as 
she  came  up  to  me.  The  plain,  small  collar 
of  the  dress  opened  at  the  neck,  and  from  it 
a  delicious,  solid  white  throat  rose  from  the 
dull  stuff  like  an  almond  bursting  from  its 
husk.  On  the  pale,  well-cut  face  and  small 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

head  great  care  had  evidently  been  bestowed; 
the  eyes  were  darkened,  as  last  night,  and  the 
hair  arranged  with  infinite  pains  on  the  fore- 
head, and  rolled  into  one  massive  glossy  coil 
at  the  back. 

She  shook  hands  with  a  smile — a  smile  that 
failed  to  dispel  the  air  of  fatigue  and  fashion- 
able dissipation  which  seemed  to  cling  to  her — 
and  then  wheeled  a  chair  as  near  to  the  fender 
as  she  could  get  it.  As  she  sat  down  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  such  splendid  shoulders  com- 
bined with  so  slight  a  hip  before. 

"Now,  I  hope  no  one  else  will  come  to  in- 
terrupt us,"  she  said  simply.  "And  don't  let's 
bother  to  exchange  comments  on  the  weather 
nor  last  night's  dance.  I  have  done  that  six 
times  over  this  morning  with  other  callers. 
Don't  let  us  talk  for  the  sake  of  getting 
through  a  certain  number  of  words.  Let  us 
talk  because  we  are  interested  in  what  we  are 
saying." 

"I  should  be  interested  in  anything  if  you 
said  it,"  I  answered. 

"That's  a  fairly  neat  compliment,"  laughed 
Theodora.  "Tell  me  something  about  the 
East,  will  you?  That  is  a  nice  warm  subject, 
and  I  feel  so  cold."  And  she  shot  out  towards 
the  blaze  two  well-made  feet  and  ankles. 

44 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"Yes;  in  three  weeks'  time  I  shall  be  in  a 
considerably  warmer  climate  than  this,"  I  an- 
swered, drawing  my  chair  as  close  to  hers  as 
fashion  permits. 

Theodora  looked  at  me  with  a  perceptibly 
startled  expression  as  I  spoke. 

"Are  you  really  going  out  so  soon?"  she 
said. 

"I  am  really,"  I  said  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry." 

"Why?"  I  asked  merely. 

"Because  I  was  thinking  I  should  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you  lots  more  times  at 
different  functions." 

"And  would  that  be  a  pleasure?" 

"Yes,  very  great,"  said  Theodora,  with  a 
smile  lighting  her  eyes  and  parting  faintly  the 
soft  scarlet  lips. 

She  looked  at  me,  a  seducing  softness  melt- 
ing all  her  face  and  swimming  in  the  liquid 
darkness  of  the  eyes  she  raised  to  mine.  A 
delicious  intimacy  seemed  established  between 
us  by  that  smile;  we  seemed  nearer  to  each 
other  after  it  than  before  by  many  degrees. 
A  month  or  two  of  time  and  ordinary  inter- 
course may  be  balanced  against  the  seconds  of 
such  a  smile  as  this.  A  faint  feeling  of  sur- 
prise mingled  with  my  thoughts  that  she 

45 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

should  show  her  own  attitude  of  mind  so 
clearly,  but  I  believe  she  felt  instinctively  my 
attraction  to  her,  and  also  undoubtedly  she 
belonged  to  and  had  always  been  accustomed 
to  a  fast  set.  I  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to 
find  fault  with  her  for  that,  and  probably  she 
had  already  been  conscious  of  this,  and  felt 
all  the  more  at  ease  with  me.  The  opening 
primrose  type  of  woman,  the  girl  who  does  or 
wishes  to  suggest  the  modest  violet  unfolding 
beneath  the  rural  hedge,  had  never  had  a 
charm  for  me.  I  do  not  profess  to  admire  the 
simple  violet ;  I  infinitely  prefer  a  well-trained 
hothouse  gardenia.  And  this  girl,  about  whom 
there  was  nothing  of  the  humble  crooked- 
necked  violet,  in  whom  there  was  a  dash 
of  virility,  a  hint  at  dissipation,  a  suggestion 
of  a  certain  decorous  looseness  of  morals  and 
fastness  of  manners,  could  stimulate  me  with 
a  keen  sense  of  pleasure  as  our  eyes  or  hands 
met. 

"Why  would  it  be  a  pleasure  to  meet  me?" 
I  asked,  holding  her  eyes  with  mine,  and  won- 
dering whether  things  would  so  turn  out  that 
I  should  ever  kiss  those  parting  lips  before 
me. 

Theodora  laughed  gently. 

"For  a  good  many  reasons  that  it  would 
46 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

make  you  too  conceited  to  hear,"  she  answered. 
"But  one  is  because  you  are  more  interesting 
to  talk  to  than  the  majority  of  people  I  meet 
every  day.  The  castor  of  your  chair  has  come 
upon  my  dress.  Will  you  move  it  back  a  little, 
please?" 

I  pushed  my  chair  back  immediately  and 
apologised. 

"Are  you  going  alone?"  resumed  Theodora. 

"Quite  alone." 

"Is  that  nice?" 

"No;  I  should  have  been  very  glad  to  find 
some  nice  fellow  to  go  with  me,  but  it's  rather 
difficult.  It  is  not  everybody  one  meets  that 
one  would  care  to  make  such  an  exclusive  com- 
panion of  as  a  life  like  that  out  there  necessi- 
tates. Still,  there's  no  doubt  I  shall  be  dull, 
unless  I  can  find  some  chum  there." 

"Some  Englishman,  I  suppose?" 

"Possibly;  but  they  are  mostly  snobs  who 
are  out  there." 

Theodora  made  a  faint  sign  of  assent,  and 
we  both  sat  silent,  staring  into  the  fire. 

"Does  the  heat  suit  you?"  Theodora  asked 
after  a  pause. 

"Yes,  I  like  it  personally." 

"So  do  I." 

"I  don't  think  any  woman  would  like  the 
47 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

climate  I  am  going  to  now,  or  could  stand  it," 
I  said. 

Theodora  said  nothing;  but  I  had  my  eyes 
on  her  face,  which  was  towards  the  light  of 
the  fire,  and  I  saw  a  tinge  of  mockery  come 
over  it.  We  had  neither  said  anything  fur- 
ther when  the  sound  of  a  knock  reached  us, 
muffled  owing  to  the  distance  the  sound  had 
to  travel  to  reach  us  by  the  drawing-room  fire 
at  all,  but  distinct  in  the  silence  between  us* 
Theodora  looked  at  me  sharply. 

"There  is  somebody  else.  Do  you  want  to 
leave  yet?"  she  said,  and  then  added  in  a  soft, 
persuasive  tone,  "Come  into  my  own  study, 
where  we  shan't  be  disturbed,  and  stay  and 
have  tea  with  me,  will  you?" 

She  got  up  as  she  spoke:  the  room  had 
darkened  considerably  while  we  had  been  sit* 
ting  there,  and  only  a  dull  light  came  from 
the  leaden,  snow-laden  sky  beyond  the  panes, 
but  the  firelight  fell  strongly  across  her  figure 
as  she  stood,  glancing  and  playing  up  it  to- 
wards the  slight  waist  and  throwing  scarlet 
upon  the  white  throat  and  under  part  of  the 
full  chin.  In  the  strong  shadow  on  her  face 
I  could  see  merely  the  two  seducing  eyes. 
Easily  excitable,  where  once  a  usually  hyper- 
critical, or  rather  hyperfanciful  eye  has  been 

48 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

attracted,  I  felt  a  keen  sense  of  pleasure  stir 
me  as  I  watched  her  rise  and  stand.  That 
sense  of  pleasure  which  is  nothing1  more  than 
an  assurance  to  the  roused  and  unquiet  in- 
stincts within  one,  of  future  satisfaction  or 
gratification,  with,  from,  or  at  the  expense  of 
the  object  creating  the  sensation.  Uncon- 
sciously a  certainty  of  possession  of  Theodora 
to-day,  to-morrow,  or  next  year,  filled  me  for 
the  moment  as  completely  as  if  I  had  just 
made  her  my  wife.  The  instinct  that  de- 
manded her  was  immediately  answered  by  a 
mechanical  process  of  the  brain,  not  with  doubt 
or  fear  but  simple  confidence :  this  is  a  pleasant 
and  delightful  object  to  you,  as  others  have 
been;  later,  it  will  be  a  source  of  enjoyment 
to  you,  as  others  have  been.  And  the  lulling 
of  this  painful  instinct  is  what  we  know  as 
pleasure.  And  this  instinct  and  its  answer 
is  exactly  that  which  we  should  not  feel  writhin 
us  for  any  beloved  object:  it  is  this  that  tends 
inevitably  to  degrade  the  loved  one  and  debase 
our  own  passion.  If  the  object  is  worthy  and 
lovely  in  any  sense,  we  should  be  ready  to  love 
it  as  being  such,  for  itself,  as  moralists  preach 
to  us  of  Virtue,  as  theologians  preach  to  us  of 
the  Deity.  To  love,  or  at  least  to  strive  to 
love,  an  object  for  the  object's  sake,  and  not 

49 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

our  own  sake,  to  love  it  in  its  relation  to  its 
pleasure  and  not  in  its  relation  to  our  own 
pleasure,  is  to  feel  the  only  love  which  is 
worthy  of  offering  to  a  fellow  human  being, 
the  one  which  elevates — and  the  only  one — 
both  giver  and  receiver.  If  we  ever  learn  this 
lesson,  we  learn  it  late.  I  had  not  learned  it 
yet. 

I  murmured  a  prescribed  "I  shall  be  de- 
lighted," and  followed  Theodora  behind  a  huge 
red  tapestry  screen  that  reached  half-way  up 
to  the  ceiling.  We  were  then  face  to  face 
with  a  door  which  she  opened,  and  we  both 
passed  over  the  threshold  together.  She  had 
called  the  room  her  own,  so  I  glanced  round 
it  with  a  certain  curiosity.  A  room  is  always 
some  faint  index  to  the  character  of  its  occu- 
pier, and  as  I  looked,  a  smile  came  to  my  face : 
it  suggested  everywhere,  as  I  should  have  ex- 
pected, an  intellectual  but  careless  and  disso- 
lute mind.  There  were  two  or  three  tables 
in  the  window  heaped  up  with  books  and 
strewn  over  with  papers.  The  centre  table 
had  been  pushed  away  to  leave  a  clearer  space 
by  the  grate,  and  an  arm-chair,  seemingly  of 
unfathomable  depths,  and  a  sofa  dragged  for- 
ward in  its  place.  Within  the  grate  roared  a 
tremendous  fire,  banked  up  half-way  to  the 

50 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

chimney,  and  a  short  poker  was  thrust  into 
it  between  the  bars:  the  red  light  leaped  over 
the  whole  room  and  made  it  brilliant,  and 
glanced  over  a  rug  and  some  tumbled  cushions 
on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  fender,  evidently 
where  she  had  been  lying.  Now,  however,  she 
picked  up  the  cushions  and  tossed  them  into 
the  corner  of  the  couch  and  sat  down  herself 
in  the  other  corner. 

"Do  you  prefer  the  floor  generally?"  I  said, 
sitting  down  in  the  arm-chair  as  she  indicated 
it  to  me. 

"Yes,  one  feels  quite  free  and  at  ease  lying 
on  the  floor,  whereas  on  a  couch  its  limits  are 
narrow,  and  one  has  the  constraint  and  bother 
of  taking  care  one  does  not  to  go  to  sleep 
and  roll  off." 

"But,  suppose  you  did,  you  would  then  but 
be  upon  the  floor." 

"Quite  so,  but  I  should  have  the  pain  of 
falling."  Our  eyes  met  each  other's  across 
the  red  flare  of  the  firelight. 

Theodora  went  on  jestingly,  "Now  these 
are  the  ethics  of  the  couch  and  the  floor:  I 
lay  myself  voluntarily  upon  the  floor,  know- 
ing it  thoroughly  as  a  trifle  low  but  undecep- 
tive,  suitable  to  the  condition  of  sleep,  which 
will  probably  arise,  and  suitable  to  my  re- 

51 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

quirements  of  ease  and  space;  I  avoid  the  re- 
stricted and  uncertain  couch,  recognising  that 
if  I  fall  to  sleep  on  that  raised  level  and  the 
desire  to  stretch  myself  should  come,  I  shall 
awake  with  pain  and  shock  to  feel  the  ground 
and  see  above  me  the  couch  from  which  I  fell 
—see?"  She  spoke  lightly  and  with  a  smile, 
and  I  listened  with  one;  but  her  eyes  told  me 
that  these  ethics  of  the  couch  and  floor  cov- 
ered the  ethics  of  life.  "No,  you  must  ac- 
cept the  necessity  of  the  floor,  I  think,  unless 
you  like  to  forego  your  sleep  and  have  the 
trouble  of  taking  care  to  stick  upon  your 
couch;  and  for  me,  the  difference  of  level  be- 
tween the  two  is  not  worth  the  additional 
bother."  She  laughed  and  I  joined  her. 
"What  do  you  think?"  she  asked. 

I  looked  at  her  as  she  sat  opposite  me,  the 
firelight  playing  all  over  her,  from  the  turn  of 
her  knee  just  marked  beneath  her  skirt  to  her 
splendid  shoulders  and  the  smooth,  soft  hand 
and  wrist  supporting  the  distinguished  little 
head.  I  did  not  tell  her  what  I  was  thinking. 
What  I  said  was,  "You're  very  logical:  I  am 
quite  convinced  there's  no  place  like  the  ground 
for  a  siesta." 

Theodora  laughed  and  laid  her  hand  on  the 
bell.  A  second  or  two  after,  a  door,  other 

52 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

than  the  one  we  had  entered  by,  opened  and 
a  maid  appeared. 

"Bring  tea  and  pegs,"  said  Theodora,  and 
the  door  shut  again.  "I  ordered  pegs  for  you, 
because  I  know  men  hate  tea,"  she  said. 
"That's  my  own  maid.  I  never  let  any  of  the 
servants  answer  this  bell  except  her:  she  has 
my  confidence  as  far  as  one  ever  gives  confi- 
dence to  a  servant.  I  think  she  likes  me:  I 
like  making  myself  loved,"  she  added  im- 
pulsively. 

"You've  never  found  the  least  difficulty  in 
it,  I  should  think,"  I  answered,  perhaps  a 
shade  more  warmly  than  I  ought,  for  the 
colour  came  into  her  cheek  and  a  slight  con- 
fusion into  her  eyes.  The  servant's  re-entry 
saved  her  from  replying. 

"Now,  tell  me  how  you  like  your  peg  made, 
and  I'll  make  it,"  said  Theodora,  getting  up 
and  crossing  to  the  table  when  the  servant  had 
gone.  I  got  up  too,  and  protested  against 
this  arrangement.  Theodora  turned  round 
and  looked  up  at  me,  leaning  one  hand  on  the 
table. 

"Now,  how  ridiculous  and  conventional  you 
are!"  she  said.  "You  would  think  nothing  of 
letting  me  make  you  a  cup  of  tea,  and  yet  I 
must  by  no  means  mix  you  a  peg !" 

53 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

She  looked  so  like  a  young  fellow  of  nine- 
teen or  so  as  she  spoke,  that  half  the  sense  of 
informality  between  us  was  lost,  and  there  was 
a  keen,  subtle  pleasure  in  this  superficial  fa- 
miliarity with  her  that  I  had  never  felt  with 
far  prettier  women.  The  half  of  nearly  every 
desire  is  curiosity,  a  vague,  undefined  curiosity, 
of  which  we  are  hardly  conscious,  and  it  was 
this  that  Theodora  so  violently  stimulated, 
while  her  beauty  was  sufficient  to  nurse  the 
other  half.  This  feeling  of  curiosity  arises, 
of  course,  for  any  woman  who  may  be  new  to 
us,  and  who  has  the  power  to  move  us  at  all, 
but  generally,  if  it  cannot  be  gratified  for  the 
particular  one,  it  is  more  or  less  satisfied  by 
the  general  knowledge  applying  to  them  all; 
but  here,  as  Theodora  differed  so  much  from 
the  ordinary  feminine  type,  even  this  in- 
stinctive consolation  was  denied  me.  I  looked 
down  at  her  with  a  smile. 

"We  shan't  be  able  to  reconcile  Fashion  and 
Logic,  so  it's  no  use,"  I  said.  "Make  the  peg, 
then,  and  I'll  try  and  remain  in  the  fashion  by 
assuming  it's  tea." 

"Great  Scott!  I  hope  you  won't  fancy  it's 
tea  while  you  are  drinking  it !"  returned  Theo- 
dora, laughing. 

She  handed  me  the  glass,  and  I  declared 

54, 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

nectar  wasn't  in  it  with  that  peg;  and  then 
she  made  her  own  tea  and  came  and  sat  down 
to  drink  it  in  not  at  all  an  indecorous,  but  still 
informal  proximity. 

"Did  you  collect  anything  in  the  East?"  she 
asked  after  a  minute  or  two. 

"Yes,  a  good  many  idols  and  relics  and 
curiosities  of  sorts,"  I  answered.  "Would  you 
like  to  see  them?" 

"Very  much,"  Theodora  answered.  "Where 
are  they?" 

"Well,  not  in  my  pocket,"  I  said  smiling; 
"at  my  chambers.  Could  you  and  Mrs. 
Strong  spare  an  afternoon  and  honour  me  with 
a  visit  there?" 

"I  should  like  it  immensely.  I  know  Hester 
will  come  if  I  ask  her." 

"When  you  have  seen  them  I  must  pack 
them  up  and  send  them  to  my  agents.  One 
can't  travel  about  with  those  things." 

A  sort  of  tremor  passed  over  Theodora's 
face  as  I  spoke,  and  her  glance  met  mine,  full 
of  demands  and  questionings  and  a  very  dis- 
tinct assertion  of  distress ;  it  said  distinctly,  "I 
am  so  sorry  you  are  going."  The  sorrow  in 
her  eyes  touched  my  vanity  deeply,  which  is 
the  most  responsive  quality  we  have.  It  is 
difficult  to  reach  our  hearts  or  our  sympathies, 

55 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

but  our  vanity  is  always  available.  I  felt  in- 
clined to  throw  my  arm  round  that  supple- 
looking  waist — and  it  was  close  to  me — and 
say,  "Don't  be  sorry.  Come  too."  I  don't 
know  whether  my  looks  were  as  plain  as  hers, 
but  Theodora  rose  carelessly,  apparently  to  set 
her  tea-cup  down,  and  then  did  not  resume  her 
seat  by  me,  but  went  back  to  the  sofa  on  the 
other  side  of  the  rug.  This,  in  the  state  of 
feeling  into  which  I  had  drifted,  produced  an 
irritated  sensation,  and  I  was  rather  pleased 
than  not  when  a  gong  sounded  somewhere  in 
the  house  and  gave  me  a  graceful  opening  to 
rise. 

"May  I  hope  to  hear  from  you,  then,  which 
day  you  will  like  to  come?"  I  said,  as  I  held 
out  my  hand. 

Now  this  was  the  moment  I  had  been  ex- 
pecting practically  ever  since  her  hand  left 
mine,  the  moment  when  it  should  touch  it  again 
— I  do  not  mean  consciously;  but  there  are 
a  million  slight,  vague  physical  experiences 
and  sensations  within  us  of  which  the  mind 
remains  unconscious.  Theodora's  white  right 
hand  rested  on  her  hip,  the  light  from  above 
struck  upon  it,  and  I  noted  that  all  the  rings 
had  been  stripped  from  it :  her  left  was  crowded 
with  them,  so  that  the  hand  sparkled  at 

56 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

each  movement,  but  not  one  remained  on  her 
right.  I  coloured  violently  for  the  minute  as 
I  recollected  my  last  night's  pressure,  and  the 
idea  flashed  upon  me  at  once  that  she  had  re- 
moved them  expressly  to  avoid  the  pain  of  hav- 
ing them  ground  into  her  flesh.  The  next 
second  Theodora  had  laid  her  hand  confidently 
in  mine.  My  mind,  annoyed  at  the  thought 
just  shot  through  it,  bade  me  take  it  loosely 
and  let  it  go;  but  Theodora  raised  her  eyes  to 
me  full  of  a  soft  disappointment,  which 
seemed  to  say,  "Are  you  not  going  to  press  it 
then,  after  all,  when  I  have  taken  off  all  the 
rings  entirely  that  you  may?"  That  look 
seemed  to  push  away,  walk  over,  ignore  my 
reason  and  appeal  directly  to  the  eager  physical 
nerves  and  muscles.  Spontaneously,  whether 
I  would  or  not,  they  responded  to  it,  and  my 
fingers  laced  themselves  tightly  round  this 
morsel  of  velvet-covered  fire.  We  forgot  in 
those  few  seconds  to  say  the  orthodox  good- 
byes, she  forgot  to  answer  my  question:  what 
we  both  were  saying  to  each  other,  though  our 
lips  did  not  open,  was — 

"So  I  should  like  to  hold  and  embrace  you," 
and  she,  "So  I  should  like  to  be  held  and  em- 
braced." Then  she  withdrew  her  hand,  and 
I  went  out  by  the  way  of  the  drawing-room, 

57 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

where  we  had  entered.  In  the  hall  her  foot- 
men showed  me  out  with  extra  obsequiousness : 
my  three  hours'  stay  raised  me,  I  suppose,  to 
the  rank  of  more  than  an  ordinary  caller. 

It  was  dark  now  in  the  streets,  and  the  tem- 
perature must  have  been  somewhere  about 
zero.  I  turned  my  collar  up,  and  started  to 
walk  sharply  in  the  direction  of  my  chambers. 
Walking  always  induces  in  me  a  tendency  to 
reflection  and  retrospection ;  and  now,  removed 
from  the  excitement  of  Theodora's  actual 
presence,  my  thoughts  lapped  quietly  over  the 
whole  interview,  going  through  it  backwards, 
like  the  calming  waves  of  a  receding  tide  leav- 
ing lingeringly  the  sand.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  this  girl  attracted  me  very  strongly ; 
that  the  passion  born  yesterday  was  nearing 
adolescence;  and  there  was  no  doubt,  too,  that 
I  ought  to  strangle  it  now  before  it  reached 
maturity.  My  thoughts,  however,  turned  im- 
patiently from  this  question,  and  kept  closing 
and  centring  round  the  object  itself  with  mad- 
dening persistency.  I  laughed  to  myself  as 
Schopenhauer's  theory  shot  across  me,  that  all 
impulse  to  love  is  merely  the  impulse  of  the 
genius  of  the  genus  to  select  a  fitting  object 
which  will  help  in  producing  the  Third  Life. 
Certainly  the  genius  of  the  genus  in  me  was 

58 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

weaker  than  the  genius  of  my  own  individuality 
here,  for  Theodora  was  as  unfitted,  according 
to  the  philosopher's  views,  to  become  a  co- 
worker  with  me  in  carrying  out  nature's  sole 
aim  as  she  was  fitted  to  give  me  as  an  individual 
the  strongest  personal  pleasure. 

It  may  be,  granted  that  the  first  moving  of 
desire  in  a  lover  is  the  mere  striving  of  Nature 
to  produce  the  Third  Life,  and  that  she  leads 
him  unconsciously  to  desire  an  object  most 
suited  to  the  requirements  of  the  future  being, 
rather  than  his  own ;  granted  that  in  many  men 
nature  is  powerful  to  this  extent,  it  may  be 
that  in  others,  the  demands  and  stimulus  of  the 
mind  strangle  the  instincts  of  nature,  and  wil- 
fully force  the  lover  towards  some  object 
where  the  aims  of  nature  may  not  be  seconded, 
may  even  be  defeated,  but  where  the  will  and 
the  desire  of  the  individual  will  receive  its 
greatest  possible  gratification. 

I  remember  Schopenhauer  does  admit  that 
this  instinct  in  man  is  apt  to  be  led  astray ;  and 
it  is  fortunate  he  did  not  forget  to  make  this 
admission,  if  his  theory  is  to  be  generally  ap- 
plied, considering  how  very  particularly  often 
we  are  led  astray,  and  that  our  strongest, 
fiercest  passions  and  keenest  pleasures  are  con- 
stantly not  those  suitable  to  or  in  accordance 

59 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

with  the  ends  of  nature.  It  has  always  seemed 
to  me  that  the  sharpest,  most  violent  stimulus 
— we  may  say  the  true  essence  of  pleasure — 
lies  in  some  gratification  which  has  no  claim 
whatever  in  any  sense  to  be  beneficial  or  useful, 
or  have  any  ulterior  motive,  conscious  or  in- 
stinctive, or  any  lasting  result,  or  any  f ulfil- 
ment  of  any  object,  but  which  is  simple  grati- 
fication, and  dies  naturally  in  its  own  excess. 

As  we  admit  of  works  of  pure  genius  that 
they  cannot  claim  for  themselves  utility  or 
motive  or  purpose,  but  simply  that  they  exist 
as  joy-giving  and  beautiful  objects  of  delight, 
so  must  we  have  done  with  utility,  motive,  pur- 
pose, and  the  aims  of  nature  before  we  can 
reach  the  most  absolute  degree  of  positive 
pleasure. 

To  choose  an  ordinary,  simple,  admissible 
instance:  A  naturally  hungry  man,  given  a 
slice  of  bread,  will  he  or  will  he  not  devour 
it  with  as  great  a  pleasure  as  the  craving 
drunkard  feels  in  swallowing  a  draught  of  raw 
brandy? 

In  the  first  case  a  simple,  natural  desire  is 
gratified,  and  the  aim  of  nature  satisfied;  but 
the  individual's  longing  and  subsequent 
pleasure  cannot  be  said  to  equal  the  furious 
crave  of  the  drunkard,  and  his  delirious  sense 

60 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

of  gratification  as  the  brandy  burns  his  throat. 
This  inclination  towards  Theodora  could 
hardly  be  the  simple,  natural  instinct,  guided 
by  natural  selection ;  for  then,  surely,  I  should 
have  been  swayed  towards  some  more  womanly 
individual,  some  more  vigorous  and,  at  the 
same  time,  more  feminine  physique.  No;  it 
was  the  mind  that  had  first  suggested  to  the 
senses,  and  the  senses  that  had  answered  in  a 
dizzy  pleasure,  that  this  passionate,  sensitive 
frame,  with  its  tensely  strung  nerves  and  ex- 
citable pulses,  promised  the  height  of  satisfac- 
tion to  a  lover ;  but  surely  to  Nature  it  promised 
a  poor,  if  possible,  mother,  and  a  still  poorer 
nurse.  And  these  desires  and  passions,  which 
spring  from  that  borderland  between  mind  and 
senses,  and  are  nourished  by  the  suggestions  of 
the  one  and  the  stimulus  of  the  other,  have  a 
strong  grip  upon  our  organisation,  because 
they  offer  an  acuter  pleasure  than  those  simple 
and  purely  physical  ones  in  which  Nature  is 
striving  after  her  own  ends,  and  using  us 
simply  as  her  instruments.  I  thought  on  in  a 
desultory  sort  of  way,  more  or  less  about  Theo- 
dora, and  mostly  about  the  state  of  my  own 
feelings,  until  I  reached  my  chambers.  There 
I  found  Digby,  and  in  his  society,  with  his 
chaff  and  gabble  in  my  ears,  all  philosophy  and 

61 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

reflection  fled,  without  leaving  me  any  definite 
decision  made. 

The  next  afternoon  but  one  found  myself 
and  Digby  standing  at  the  window  of  my 
chambers  awaiting  Theodora's  arrival.  I  had 
invited  him  to  help  me  entertain  the  two 
women,  and  also  help  me  unearth  and  dust 
my  store  of  idols  and  curiosities  and  range 
them  on  the  tables  for  inspection.  There  were 
crowds  of  knick-knacks  picked  up  in  the 
crooked  streets  and  odd  corners  of  Benares, 
trifles  bought  in  the  Cairo  bazaars,  and  vases 
and  coins  discovered  below  the  soil  in  the  re- 
gions of  the  Tigris.  Concerning  several  of 
the  most  typical  objects  Digby  and  I  had  had 
considerable  difference  of  opinion.  One  highly 
interesting  bronze  model  of  the  monkey  god 
at  Benares  he  had  declared  I  could  not  exhibit 
on  account  of  its  too  pronounced  realism  and 
insufficient  attention  to  the  sartorial  art.  I 
had  declared  that  the  god's  deficiencies  in 
this  respect  were  not  more  pronounced  than 
the  objects  in  flesh  tints,  hung  at  the  Academy, 
that  Theodora  viewed  every  season. 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  had  answered.  "But  this 
is  not  in  pink  and  white  and  hung  on  the 
Academy  walls  for  the  public  to  stare  at,  and 
therefore  you  can't  let  her  see  it." 

62 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

This  was  unanswerable.  I  yielded,  and  the 
monkey-god  was  wheeled  under  a  side-table, 
out  of  view.  Every  shelf,  and  stand,  and 
table  had  been  pressed  into  the  service,  and  my 
rooms  had  the  appearance  of  a  corner  in  an 
Egyptian  bazaar  now  when  we  had  finished 
our  preparations. 

"There  they  are,"  said  Digby,  as  Mrs. 
Strong's  victoria  came  in  sight. 

Theodora  was  leaning  back  beside  her  sister, 
and  it  struck  me  then  how  representative  she 
looked  as  it  were  of  herself  and  her  position. 
From  where  we  stood  we  could  see  down  into 
the  victoria  as  it  drew  up  at  our  door.  Her 
knees  were  crossed  under  the  blue  carriage  rug, 
on  the  edge  of  which  rested  her  two  small  pale- 
gloved  hands.  A  velvet  jacket  that  fitted  her 
as  its  skin  fits  the  grape  showed  us  her  mag- 
nificent shoulders  and  the  long  easy  slope  of 
her  figure  to  the  small  waist.  On  her  head, 
in  the  least  turn  of  which  lay  the  acme  of  dis- 
tinction, amongst  the  black  glossy  masses  of 
her  hair,  sat  a  small  hat  in  vermilion  velvet, 
made  to  somewhat  resemble  the  Turkish  fez. 
As  the  carriage  stopped  she  glanced  up,  and 
a  brilliant  smile  swept  over  her  face  as  she 
bowed  slightly  to  us  at  the  window.  The 
handsome,  painted  eyes,  the  naturally  scarlet 

63 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

lips,  the  pallor  of  the  oval  face,  and  each  well- 
trained  movement  of  the  distinguished  figure 
as  she  rose  and  stepped  from  the  carriage,  was 
noted  and  watched  by  our  four  critical  eyes. 

"A  typical  product  of  our  nineteenth  cen-r 
tury  civilisation,"  I  said  with  a  faint  smile,  as 
Theodora  let  her  fur-edged  skirt  draw  over  the 
snowy  pavement,  and  we  heard  her  clear,  culti- 
vated tones,  with  the  fashionable  drag  in  them, 
ordering  the  ccachman  not  to  let  the  horses  get 
cold. 

"But  she's  a  splendid  sort  of  creature,  don't 
you  think?"  said  Digby.  "Happy  the  man 
who— eh?" 

I  nodded. 

"Yes,"  I  assented,  "but  Kow  much  that  man 
should  have  to  offer,  old  chap,  that's  the  point. 
That  six  thousand  of  hers  seems  an  invulner- 
able protection." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Digby  with  a  nervous 
yawn.  "And  to  think  I  have  more  than 
double  that,  and  yet —  It's  a  pity.  Funny  it 
will  be  if  my  looks  and  your  poverty  prevent 
either  of  us  having  her." 

"My  own  case  is  settled,"  I  said  decisively. 
"My  position  and  hers  decide  it  for  me." 

"I'd  change  places  with  you  this  minute  if  I 
could,"  muttered  Digby  moodily,  as  steps  came 

64 


down  to  our  door  and  we  went  forward  •'.  D  meet 
the  women  as  they  entered. 

It  seemed  to  arrange  itself  naturally  that 
Digby  should  be  occupied  in  the  first  few 
seconds  with  Mrs.  Strong,  and  that  I  should 
be  free  to  receive  Theodora. 

Of  all  the  lesser  emotions  there  is  hardly  any 
one  greater  than  that  subtle  sense  of  pleasure 
felt  when  the  woman  we  love  crosses  for  the 
first  time  our  own  threshold.  We  may  have 
met  her  a  hundred  times  in  her  house  or  on 
public  ground,  but  the  sensation  her  presence 
then  creates  is  altogether  different  from  that 
instinctive,  involuntary,  momentary,  and  de- 
lightful sense  of  ownership  which  rises  when 
she  enters  any  room  essentially  our  own.  It  is 
the  very  illusion  of  possession.  With  this 
hatefully  egoistic  satisfaction  infused  through 
me,  I  drew  forward  for  her  my  own  favourite 
chair  and  Theodora  sank  into  it,  and  her  tiny, 
exquisitely  formed  feet  sought  my  fender  rail. 
At  a  murmured  invitation  from  me  she  un- 
fastened and  laid  aside  her  cloak.  Beneath, 
she  revealed  some  purplish  silk-like  material 
that  seemed  shot  with  different  colours  as  the 
firelight  fell  upon  it ;  it  was  strained  tight  and 
smooth  upon  her,  and  the  swell  of  a  low  bosom 
was  distinctly  defined  below  it.  There  was  no 

65 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

excessive  development,  quite  the  contrary,  but 
in  the  very  slightness  there  was  an  indescrib- 
ably sensuous  curve,  and  a  depression  rising 
and  falling  that  seemed  as  if  it  might  be  the 
very  home  itself  of  passion.  It  was  a  breast 
with  little  suggestion  of  the  duties  or  powers  of 
nature,  but  with  infinite  seduction  for  a  lover. 

"What  a  marvellous  collection  you  have 
here!"  she  said,  throwing  a  glance  round  the 
room.  "What  made  you  bring  home  all  these 
things?" 

"The  majority  were  gifts  to  me — presents 
made  by  the  different  natives  whom  I  visited 
or  came  into  connection  with  in  various  ways. 
A  native  is  never  happy,  if  he  likes  you  at  all, 
until  he  has  made  you  some  valuable  present." 

"You  must  be  very  popular  with  them,  in- 
deed," returned  Theodora,  glancing  from  a 
brilliant  Persian  carpet  suspended  on  the  wall 
to  a  gold  and  ivory  model  of  a  temple  on  the 
console  by  her  side. 

"Well,  when  one  stays  with  a  fellow  as  his 
guest,  as  I  have  done  with  some  of  these  small 
rajahs  and  people,  of  course  one  tries  to  make 
oneself  agreeable." 

"The  fact  is,  Miss  Dudley,"  interrupted 
Digby,  "Ray  admires  these  fellows,  and  that 
is  why  they  like  him.  Just  look  at  this  sketch- 

66 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

book  of  his — what  trouble  he  has  taken  to 
make  portraits  of  them,"  and  he  stretched  out 
a  limp-covered  pocket  album  of  mine.  I  red- 
dened slightly,  and  tried  to  intercept  his  hand. 

"Nonsense,  Digby;  give  the  book  to  me,"  I 
said,  but  Theodora  had  already  taken  it,  and 
she  looked  at  me  as  I  spoke  with  one  of  those 
delicious  looks  that  could  speak  so  clearly ;  now 
it  seemed  to  say,  "If  you  are  going  to  love  me, 
you  must  have  no  secrets  from  me." 

She  opened  the  book,  and  I  was  subdued 
and  let  her.  I  did  not  much  care,  except  that 
it  was  some  time  now  since  I  had  looked  at  it, 
and  I  did  not  know  what  she  might  find  in  it; 
however,  Theodora  was  so  different  from  girls 
generally,  that  it  did  not  greatly  matter. 

"Perhaps  these  are  portraits  of  your  differ- 
ent conquests  amongst  the  ranees,  are  they?" 
she  said.  "I  don't  see  'My  Victims,'  though, 
written  across  the  outside,  as  the  Frenchmen 
write  on  their  albums." 

"No,"  I  said  with  a  smile;  "I  think  these 
are  only  portraits  of  men  whose  appearance 
struck  me,  or  with  whom  I  had  some  friend- 
ship. The  great  difficulty  is  to  get  any  Ma- 
homedan  to  let  you  draw  him." 

The  very  first  leaf  she  turned  seemed  to  give 
the  lie  to  my  words.  Against  a  background 

67 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

of  yellow  sand  and  blue  sky  stood  out  a  slight 
figure  in  white  bending  a  little  backward  and 
holding  in  its  hands,  extended  on  either  side, 
the  masses  of  its  black  hair  that  fell  through 
them  till  they  touched  the  sand  by  its  feet. 
Theodora  threw  a  side  glance  full  of  derision 
on  me  as  she  raised  her  eyes  from  the  page. 

"I  swear  it  isn't,"  I  said  hastily,  colouring, 
for  I  saw  she  thought  it  was  a  woman.  "It's 
a  young  Sikh  I  bribed  to  let  me  paint  him." 

"Oh,  a  young  Sikh,  is  it?"  said  Theodora, 
bending  over  the  book  again.  "Well,  it  is  a 
lovely  face,  and  what  beautiful  hair !" 

"Yes,  almost  as  beautiful  as  yours,"  I  mur- 
mured in  safety,  for  the  others  were  wholly 
occupied  in  testing  the  limits  of  the  flexibility 
of  the  soap  stone.  Not  for  any  consideration 
in  this  world  could  I  have  restrained  the  ir- 
resistible desire  to  say  the  words,  looking  at 
her,  sitting  sideways  to  me,  noting  that  shin- 
ing weight  of  hair  lying  on  the  white  neck, 
and  that  curious  masculine  shade  upon  the  up- 
per lip.  A  faint  liquid  smile  came  to  her  face. 

"Mine  is  not  so  long  as  that,  when  you  see 
it  undone,"  she  said,  looking  at  me. 

"How  long  is  it?"  I  asked,  mechanically 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  sketch-book  and 
thinking  in  a  crazy  sort  of  way  what  I  would 

68 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

not  give  to  see  her  in  intimate  informality,  with 
that  hair  unloosed,  and  have  the  right  to  lift 
a  single  strand  of  it. 

"It  would  not  touch  the  ground,"  she  an- 
swered. "It  must  be  about  eight  inches  off 
it,  I  think." 

"A  marvellous  length  for  a  European,"  I 
answered  in  a  conventional  tone,  though  it  was 
a  difficulty  to  summon  it.  Within  my  brain 
all  the  dizzy  thoughts  seemed  reeling  together 
till  they  left  me  hardly  conscious  of  anything 
but  an  acute,  painful  sense  of  her  proxim- 
ity. 

"Find  me  the  head  of  a  Persian,  will  you?" 
came  her  voice  next. 

"A  Persian?"  I  repeated  mechanically. 

Theodora  looked  at  me  wonderingly,  and  I 
recalled  myself. 

"Oh  yes,  I'll  find  you  one.  Give  me  the 
book."  " 

I  took  the  book  and  turned  over  the  leaves 
towards  the  end.  As  I  did  so  some  of  the 
intermediate  pages  caught  her  eye,  and  she 
tried  to  arrest  the  turning  leaves. 

"What  is  that?     Let  me  see." 

"It  is  nothing,"  I  said,  passing  them  over. 
"Allow  me  to  find  you  the  one  you  want." 

Theodora  did  not  insist,  but  her  glance  said, 
69 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"I  will  be  revenged  for  this  resistance  to  my 
wishes." 

When  I  had  found  her  the  portrait  I  laid  the 
open  book  back  upon  her  knees.  Theodora 
bent  over  it  with  an  unaffected  exclamation  of 
delight.  "How  exquisite!  and  how  well  you 
have  done  it !  What  a  talent  you  must  have !" 

"Oh  no,  no  talent,"  I  said  hastily.  "It's 
easy  to  do  a  thing  like  that  when  your  heart  is 
in  it." 

Theodora  looked  up  at  me  and  said  simply, 
"This  is  a  woman;"  and  I  looked  back  in  her 
eyes  and  said  as  simply,  "Yes,  it  is  a  woman." 

Theodora  was  silent,  gazing  at  the  open  leaf, 
absorbed ;  and  half  unconsciously  my  eyes  fol- 
lowed hers,  and  rested  with  hers  on  the  page. 
Many  months  had  gone  by  since  I  had  opened 
the  book,  and  many,  many  cigars,  that,  ac- 
cording to  Tolstoy,  deaden  every  mental  feel- 
ing, and  many,  many  pints  of  brandy,  that  do 
the  same  thing — only  more  so — had  been  con- 
sumed since  I  had  last  looked  upon  that  face. 
And  now  I  saw  it  over  the  shoulder  of  this 
woman.  And  the  old  pain  revived  and  surged 
through  me,  but  it  was  dull,  dull,  as  every  emo- 
tion must  be  in  the  near  neighbourhood  of  a 
new  object  of  desire — every  emotion  except 
one. 

70 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"Really  it  is  a  very  beautiful  face,  isn't  it?" 
she  said  at  last  with  a  tender  and  sympathetic 
accent,  and  as  she  raised  her  head  our  eyes 
met. 

I  looked  at  her  and  answered,  "I  should  say 
'Yes'  if  we  were  not  looking  at  it  together; 
but,  you  know,  beauty  is  entirely  a  question  of 
comparison." 

Her  face  was  not  one-tenth  so  handsome  as 
the  mere  shadowed  inanimate  representation 
of  the  Persian's  beneath  our  hands.  I  knew 
it,  and  so  did  she.  Theodora  herself  would 
have  been  the  first  to  admit  it.  But  neverthe- 
less the  words  were  ethically  true, — true  in  the 
sense  that  underlay  the  society  compliment,  for 
no  beauty  of  the  dead  can  compare  with  that 
of  the  living.  Such  are  we  that  as  we  love  all 
objects  in  their  relation  to  our  own  pleasure 
from  them,  so  even  in  our  admiration  the 
greatest  beauty,  when  absolutely  useless  to  us, 
cannot  move  us  as  a  far  lesser  degree  has  the 
power  to  do,  from  which  it  is  possible  to  hope, 
however  vaguely,  for  some  personal  gratifica- 
tion. And  to  this  my  words  would  come  if 
translated,  and  I  think  Theodora  understood 
the  translation  rather  than  the  conventional 
form  of  them,  for  she  did  not  take  the  trouble 
to  deprecate  the  flattery. 

71 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

I  got  up,  and  to  change  the  subject,  said, 
"Let  me  wheel  up  that  little  table  of  idols; 
some  of  them  are  rather  curious." 

I  moved  the  tripod  up  to  the  arm  of  her 
chair.  Theodora  closed  the  sketch-book  and 
put  it  beside  her,  and  looked  over  the  miniature 
bronze  gods  with  interest.  Then  she  stretched 
out  her  arm  to  lift  and  move  several  of  them, 
and  her  soft  ringers  seemed  to  lie  caressingly 
— as  they  did  on  everything  they  touched — 
on  the  heads  and  shoulders  of  the  images.  I 
watched  her,  envying  those  senseless  little 
blocks  of  brass. 

"This  is  the  Hindu  equivalent  of  the 
Greek  Aphrodite,"  I  said,  lifting  forward 
a  small,  unutterably  hideous,  squat  female 
figure,  with  the  face  of  a  monkey,  and 
two  closed  wings  of  a  dragon  on  its  shoul- 
ders. 

"Oh,  Venus!"  said  Theodora;  "we  must  cer- 
tainly crown  her  amongst  them,  though  hardly, 
I  think,  in  this  particular  case  for  her  beauty." 
And  she  laughingly  slipped  off  a  diamond 
half -loop  from  her  middle  finger  and  slipped 
the  ring  on  to  the  model's  head.  It  fitted  ex- 
actly round  the  repulsive  brows  of  the  de- 
formed and  stunted  image,  and  the  goddess 
stood  crowned  in  the  centre  of  the  table 

72 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

amongst  the  other  figures  with  the  circlet  of 
brilliants  flashing  brightly  in  the  firelight  on 
her  head. 

As  Theodora  passed  the  ring  from  her  own 
warm  white  finger  on  to  the  forehead  of  the 
misshapen  idol,  she  looked  at  me.  The  look, 
coupled  with  the  action,  in  my  state,  went  home 
to  those  very  inner  cells  of  the  brain  where  are 
the  springs  themselves  of  passion.  At  the 
same  instant  the  laughter  and  irresponsible 
gaiety  and  light  pleasure  on  the  face  before 
me,  the  contrast  between  the  delicate  hand  and 
the  repellent  monstrosity  she  had  crowned — 
the  sinister  allegorical  significance  struck  me 
like  a  blow.  An  unexplained  feeling  of  rage 
filled  me — was  it  against  her,  myself,  her  ac- 
tion, or  my  own  desires?  It  seemed  for  the 
moment  to  burn  against  them  all.  On  the 
spur  of  it  I  dragged  forward  to  myself  an- 
other of  the  images  from  behind  the  Astarte, 
slipped  off  my  own  signet  ring,  and  put  it  on 
the  head  of  the  idol. 

"This  is  the  only  one  for  me  to  crown!"  I 
said  bitterly  with  a  laugh,  feeling  myself 
whiten  with  the  stress  and  strain  of  a  host  of 
inexplicable  sensations  that  crowded  in  upon 
me  as  I  met  Theodora's  lovely,  inquiring 
glance. 

78 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

There  was  a  shadow  of  apprehensiveness  in. 
her  voice  as  she  said,  "What  is  that  one?" 

"Shiva,"  I  said  curtly,  looking  her  straight 
in  the  eyes.  "The  god  of  self-denial." 

I  saw  the  colour  die  suddenly  out  of  her 
face,  and  I  knew  I  had  hurt  her;  but  I  could 
not  help  it.  With  her  glance  she  had  sum- 
moned me  to  approve  or  second  her  jesting 
act.  It  was  a  challenge  I  could  not  pass  over. 
I  must  in  some  correspondingly  joking  way 
either  accept  or  reject  her  coronation.  And 
to  reject  it  was  all  I  could  do,  since  this  woman 
must  be  nothing  to  me.  There  was  a  second's 
blank  pause  of  strained  silence,  but  super- 
ficially we  had  not  strayed  off  the  legitimate 
ground  of  mere  society  nothings,  whatever  we 
might  feel  underlay  them,  and  Theodora  was 
trained  thoroughly  in  the  ways  of  fashion. 

The  next  second  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
saying  lightly,  "A  false,  absurd,  and  unnat- 
ural god.  It  is  the  greatest  error  to  strive 
after  the  impossible,  it  merely  prevents  you 
accomplishing  the  possible.  Gods  like  these," 
and  she  indicated  the  abominable,  squint-eyed 
Venus,  "are  merely  natural  instincts  personi- 
fied, ana  one  may  well  call  them  goas,  since 
they  are  invincible.  Don't  you  remember  the 
fearful  punishments  that  the  Greeks  repre- 

74, 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

sented  as  overtaking  mortals  who  dared  resist 
Nature's  laws  that  they  chose  to  individualise 
as  their  gods?  You  remember  the  fate  of 
Hypolitus  who  tried  to  disdain  Venus,  of  Pen- 
theus  who  tried  to  subdue  Bacchus?  Those 
two  plays  teach  the  immortal  lesson  that  if  you 
have  the  presumption  to  try  to  be  greater  than 
Nature,  she  will  in  the  end  take  a  terrible  re- 
venge. The  most  we  can  do  is  to  guide  her. 
You  can  never,  never  be  her  conqueror.  Con- 
sider yourself  fortunate  if  she  allows  you  to 
be  her  charioteer." 

It  was  all  said  very  lightly  and  jestingly,  but 
at  the  last  phrase  there  was  a  flash  in  her  eyes 
directed  upon  me — yes,  me — as  if  she  read 
down  into  my  inner  soul,  and  it  sent  the  blood 
to  my  face.  As  the  last  word  left  her  lips 
she  stretched  out  her  hand  and  deliberately 
took  my  ring  from  the  head  of  Shiva,  put  it 
above  her  own  diamonds  on  the  other  idol,  and 
laid  the  god  I  had  chosen — the  god  of  austerity 
and  mortification — prostrate  on  its  face  at  the 
feet  of  the  leering  Venus.  Then  without 
troubling  to  find  a  transition  phrase,  she  got 
up  and  said,  "I  am  going  to  look  at  that  Per- 
sian carpet." 

It  had  all  taken  but  a  few  seconds ;  the  next 
minute  we  were  over  by  the  carjpt,  standing 

75 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

in  front  of  it  and  admiring  its  hues  in  the  most 
orthodox  terms.  The  images  were  left  as  she 
had  placed  them;  I  could  do  nothing  less,  of 
course,  than  yield  to  a  woman — and  my  guest. 

The  jest  had  not  gone  towards  calming  my 
feelings ;  nor  had  those  two  glances  of  hers,  the 
first  so  tender  and  appealing,  so  feminine,  as 
she  had  crowned  the  Venus,  the  second  so  virile 
and  scornful,  as  she  had  discrowned  the  Shiva. 
There  was  a  strange  mingling  of  extremes  in 
her:  at  one  moment  she  seemed  will-less,  de- 
liciously  weak,  a  thing  only  made  to  be  taken 
in  one's  arms  and  kissed ;  the  next,  she  was  full 
of  independent,  uncontrollable  determination 
and  opinion. 

Most  men  would  have  found  it  hard  to  be 
indifferent  to  her.  When  beside  her  you  must 
either  have  been  attracted  or  repelled.  For 
me,  she  was  the  very  worst  woman  that  could 
have  crossed  my  path.  I  disliked  in  a  mild, 
theoretical  way,  women  in  the  general  term. 
I  had  an  aversion,  slight  and  faint  it  is  true,  but 
still  an  aversion,  to  everything  suggestively, 
typically  feminine;  but  Theodora,  with  her 
peculiarity,  her  apparent  power  of  mind,  her 
hermaphroditism  of  looks,  stimulated  violently 
that  strongest,  perhaps,  of  our  feelings — 
curiosity.  As  I  stood  beside  her  now,  her 

76 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

shoulder  only  a  little  below  my  own,  her  neck 
and  the  line  of  her  breast  just  visible  to  the 
side  vision  of  my  eyes,  and  heard  her  talking 
of  the  carpet,  I  felt  there  was  no  price  I  would 
not  have  paid  to  have  stood  for  one  half -hour 
in  intimate  confidence  with  her  and  been  able 
to  tear  the  veils  from  this  irritating  personality. 

From  the  carpet  we  passed  on  to  a  table 
of  Cashmere  work,  and  next,  to  a  pile  of  Ma- 
homedan  garments.  These  had  been  packed 
with  my  own  personal  luggage.  It  was  Digby 
who,  having  seen  them  by  chance,  had  insisted 
that  they  would  add  interest  to  the  general  col- 
lection of  Eastern  trifles. 

"Clothes,  my  dear  fellow,  clothes.  Why, 
they  will  probably  please  her  more  than  any- 
thing else." 

Theodora  advanced  to  the  heap  of  stuffs 
and  lifted  one  of  them. 

"What  is  the  history  of  these?"  she  said, 
laughing.  "These  were  not  presents  to  you." 

"No,"  I  murmured;  "bought  in  the  different 
bazaars." 

"Some,  perhaps,"  returned  Theodora,  throw- 
ing her  glance  over  them;  "but  a  great  many 
are  not  new." 

It  struck  me  she  would  not  be  a  woman  very 
easy  to  deceive.  Some  men  value  a  woman 

77 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

in  proportion  to  the  ease  with  which  they  can 
impose  upon  her;  but  it  is  too  much  trouble 
to  me  to  deceive  at  all,  so  that  the  absence  of 
that  amiable  quality  did  not  disquiet  me.  On 
the  contrary,  the  comprehensive,  cynical,  and 
at  the  same  time  indulgent  smile  that  came  so 
readily  to  Theodora's  lips  charmed  me  more, 
because  it  was  the  promise  of  even  less  trouble 
than  a  real  or  professed  obtuseness. 

"No,"  I  assented  merely. 

"Well,  then?"  asked  Theodora,  but  without 
troubling  to  seek  a  reply.  "How  pretty  they 
are,  and  how  curious!  this  one,  for  instance," 
and  she  took  up  a  blue  silk  Zouave  jacket, 
covered  with  gold  embroidery,  and  worth  per- 
haps about  thirty  pounds.  "This  has  been  a 
good  deal  worn;  it  is  a  souvenir,  I  suppose?" 

I  nodded.  With  any  other  woman  I  was 
similarly  anxious  to  please  I  should  have  de- 
nied it — but  with  her,  I  felt  it  did  not  matter. 

"Too  sacred,  then,  perhaps  for  me  to  put 
on,"  she  said,  with  her  hand  in  the  collar,  and 
smiling  derisively. 

"Oh  dear  no,"  I  said,  "not  at  all.  Put  it 
on,  by  all  means." 

"Nothing  is  sacred  to  you,  eh?  I  see;  hold 
it  then." 

She  gave  me  the  Zouave  and  turned  for  me 
78 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

to  put  it  on.  A  glimpse  of  the  back  of  her 
white  neck  as  she  bent  her  head  forward,  a 
convulsion  of  those  adorable  shoulders  as  she 
drew  on  the  jacket,  and  the  Zouave  was  fitted 
on;  two  seconds,  perhaps,  but  my  self-control 
wrapped  round  me  had  lost  one  of  its  skins. 

"Now  I  must  find  a  turban  or  fez,"  she  said, 
turning  over  gently  but  without  any  ceremony 
the  pile;  "oh,  here's  one."  She  drew  out  a 
white  fez,  also  embroidered  in  gold,  and  re- 
moving her  hat,  put  it  on  very  much  to  one 
side,  amongst  her  black  hair,  and  then  affect- 
ing an  undulating  gait,  she  walked  over  to  the 
fire. 

"How  do  you  like  me  in  Eastern  dress, 
Hester?"  she  said,  addressing  her  sister,  for 
whoir*  Digby  was  deciphering  some  old  coins. 

Digby  and  I  confessed  afterwards  to  each 
other  the  impulse  that  moved  us  both  to  sug- 
gest it  was  not  at  all  complete  without  the 
trousers.  I  did  offer  her  a  cigarette  to  en- 
hance the  effect. 

"Quite  passable,  really,"  said  Mrs.  Strong, 
leaning  back  and  surveying  her  languidly. 

Theodora  took  the  cigarette  with  a  laugh, 
lighted  and  smoked  it;  and  it  was  then,  as  she 
leaned  against  the  mantelpiece  with  her  eyes 
full  of  laughter,  a  glow  on  her  pale  skin,  and 

79 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

an  indolent  relaxation  in  the  long  supple 
figure,  that  I  first  said — or  rather  an  involun- 
tary, unrecognised  voice  within  me  said,  "It 
is  no  good;  whatever  happens,  I  must  have 
you." 

"Do  you  know  that  it  is  past  six,  Theo?" 
said  Mrs.  Strong. 

"You  will  let  me  give  you  a  cup  of  tea  be- 
fore you  go,"  I  said. 

"Tea!"  repeated  Theodora;  "I  thought  you 
were  going  to  say  haschisch,  or  opium  at  the 
least,  after  such  an  Indian  afternoon." 

"I  have  both,"  I  answered;  "would  you  like 
some?"  thinking,  "By  Jove,  I  should  like  to 
see  you  after  the  haschisch." 

"No,"  replied  Theodora;  "I  make  it  a  rule 
not  to  get  intoxicated  in  public." 

When  the  women  rose  to  go,  Theodora,  to 
my  regret,  divested  herself  of  the  Zouave  with- 
out my  aid,  and  declined  it  also  for  putting 
on  her  own  cloak. 

As  they  stood  drawing  on  their  gloves,  I 
asked  if  there  was  anything  they  thought 
worthy  of  their  acceptance  amongst  these 
curiosities.  Mrs.  Strong  chose  from  the  table 
near  her  an  ivory  model  of  the  Taj,  and  Digby 
took  it  up  to  carry  for  her  to  the  door.  As 
he  did  so  his  eye  caught  the  table  of  images. 

80 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"This  is  your  ring,  Miss  Dudley,  I  believe," 
he  said. 

I  saw  him  grin  horridly  as  he  noted  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  figures — doubtless  he 
thought  it  was  mine. 

I  took  up  my  signet  ring  again,  and  Theo- 
dora said  carelessly,  without  the  faintest  tinge 
of  colour  rising  in  her  cheek,  "Oh  yes,  I  had 
forgotten  it — thanks." 

She  took  it  from  him,  and  replaced  it. 

I  asked  her  if  she  would  honour  me,  as  her 
sister  had  done. 

"There  is  one  thing  in  this  room  I  covet  im- 
mensely," she  said,  meeting  my  gaze. 

"It  is  yours  then,  of  course,"  I  answered. 
"What  is  it?" 

Theodora  stretched  out  her  open  hand. 

"Your  sketch-book." 

For  a  second  I  felt  the  blood  suddenly  dye 
all  my  face.  The  request  took  me  by  surprise 
for  one  thing,  and  immediately  after  the  sur- 
prise followed  the  vexatious  and  embarrassing 
thought  that  she  had  asked  for  the  one  thing 
in  the  rooms  that  I  did  not  certainly  wish  her 
to  have.  The  book  contained  a  hundred 
memories,  embodied  in  writing,  sketching,  and 
painting,  of  those  six  years  in  the  East. 
There  was  not  a  page  in  it  that  did  not  reflect 

81 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

the  emotions  of  the  time  when  it  had  been 
filled  in,  and  give  a  chronicle  of  the  life  lived 
at  the  date  inscribed  on  it.  It  was  a  sort  of 
diary  in  cipher,  and  to  turn  over  its  leaves  was 
to  re-live  the  hours  they  represented.  For  my 
own  personal  pleasure  I  liked  the  book  and 
wanted  to  keep  it,  but  there  were  other  reasons 
too  why  I  disliked  the  idea  of  surrendering 
it.  It  flashed  through  me  the  question  as  to 
what  her  object  was  in  possessing  herself  of" 
it.  Was  it  jealousy  of  the  faces  or  any  face 
within  it  that  prompted  her?  and  would  she 
amuse  herself,  when  she  had  it,  by  tearing  out 
the  leaves  or  burning  it?  To  give  over  the 
portraits  merely  to  be  sacrificed  to  a  petty 
feminine  spite  and  malice  jarred  upon  me. 
Involuntarily  I  looked  hard  into  her  eyes  to 
try  and  read  her  intentions,  and  I  felt  I  had 
wronged  her.  The  eyes  were  full  of  the  soft- 
est, tenderest  light,  it  was  impossible  to  imagine 
them  vindictive.  She  had  seen  my  hesitation, 
and  she  smiled  faintly. 

"Poor  Herod,  with  your  daughter  of 
Herodias,"  she  said  softly.  "Never  mind,  I 
will  not  take  it." 

The  others,  who  had  been  standing  with  her, 
saw  there  was  some  embarrassment  that  they 
did  not  understand,  and  Mrs.  Strong  turned 

82 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

to  go  slowly  down  the  corridor.  Digby  had 
to  follow.  Theodora  was  left  standing  alone 
before  me,  her  seductive  figure  framed  in  the 
open  doorway.  Of  course,  she  was  irresistible : 
was  she  not  the  new  object  of  my  desires? 
I  seized  the  sketch-book  from  the  chair. 
What  did  anything  matter? 

"Yes,"  I  said,  hastily  putting  it  into  that 
soft,  small  hand  before  it  could  draw  back. 
"Forgive  me  the  hesitation.  You  know  I 
would  give  you  anything." 

If  she  answered  or  thanked  me,  I  forget  it. 
I  was  sensible  of  nothing  at  the  moment  but 
that  the  blood  seemed  flowing  to  my  brain 
and  thundering  through  it  in  ponderous  waves. 
Then  I  knew  we  were  walking  down  the 
passage,  and  in  a  few  minutes  more  we  should 
have  said  good-bye,  and  she  would  be  gone. 
An  acute  and  yet  vague  realisation  came  upon 
me  that  the  corridor  was  dark,  and  the  others 
had  gone  on  in  front,  a  confused  recollection 
of  the  way  she  had  lauded  Nature  and  her 
domination  a  short  time  back,  and  then  all 
these  were  lost  again  in  the  eddying  torrent 
of  an  overwhelming  desire  to  take  her  in  my 
arms  and  hold  her,  control  her,  assert  my  will 
over  hers,  this  exasperating  object  who  had 
been  pleasing  and  seducing  every  sense  for 

83 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

the  last  three  hours,  and  now  was  leaving  them 
all  unsatisfied.  That  impulse  towards  some 
physical  demonstration,  that  craving  for 
physical  contact  which  attacks  us  suddenly 
with  its  terrific  impetus  and  chokes  and  stifles 
us  ourselves  beneath  it,  blinding  us  to  all  ex- 
cept itself,  rushed  upon  me  then  walking  be- 
side her  in  the  dark  passage,  and  at  that  instant 
Theodora  sighed. 

"I  am  tired,"  she  said  languidly.  "May  I 
take  your  arm?"  and  her  hand  touched  me. 

I  did  not  offer  her  my  arm.  I  threw  it 
round  her  neck,  bending  back  her  head  upon 
it,  so  that  her  lips  were  just  beneath  my  own 
as  I  leaned  over  her  and  I  pressed  mine  on 
them  in  a  delirium  of  passion.  Everything 
that  should  have  been  remembered  I  forgot. 
Knowledge  was  lost  of  all  except  those 
passive  burning  lips  under  my  own.  As  I 
touched  them  a  current  of  madness  seemed  to 
mingle  with  my  blood  and  pass  flaming 
through  all  my  veins.  I  heard  her  moan,  but 
for  that  instant  I  was  beyond  the  reach  of  pity 
or  reason ;  I  only  leaned  harder  on  her  lips  in  a 
wild,  unheeding,  unsparing  frenzy.  It  was  a 
moment  of  ecstasy  that  I  would  have  bought 
with  years  of  my  life.  One  moment,  the  next 
I  released  her,  and  so  suddenly  that  she  reeled 

84 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

against  the  wall  of  the  passage.  I  caught 
her  wrist  to  steady  her.  We  dared  neither  of 
us  speak,  for  the  others  were  very  little  ahead 
of  us,  but  I  sought  her  eyes  in  the  dusk.  They 
met  mine  and  rested  on  them,  gleaming 
through  the  darkness;  there  was  no  confusion 
nor  embarrassment  in  them;  they  were  full  of 
the  hot,  clear,  blinding  light  of  passion,  and 
I  knew  there  would  be  no  need  to  crave  for- 
giveness. The  next  moment  had  brought  us 
up  to  the  others,  and  to  the  end  of  the  passage. 
Mrs.  Strong  turned  round  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  me. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said.  "We  have  had  a 
most  interesting  afternoon." 

It  was  with  an  effort  that  I  made  some  con- 
ventional remark.  Theodora,  with  perfect 
outward  calm,  shook  hands  with  myself  and 
Digby  with  her  sweetest  smile,  and  passed  out. 

I  lingered  some  few  minutes  with  Digby 
talking,  and  then  he  went  off  to  his  own  dig- 
gings, and  I  returned  slowly  down  the  passage 
to  my  rooms.  My  blood  and  pulses  seemed 
beating  as  they  do  in  fever,  my  ears  seemed 
full  of  sounds,  and  that  kiss  burned  like  the 
brand  of  hot  iron  upon  my  lips. 

When  I  reached  my  rooms  I  locked  the  door 
and  flung  both  the  windows  open  to  the  snowy 

85 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

night ;  the  white  powder  on  the  ledge  crumbled 
and  drifted  in ;  an  icy  blast  tore  into  the  room 
and  made  the  blue  and  yellow  flames  of  the 
gas  fire  leap  like  demons  over  and  amongst  the 
brick  balls  in  the  grate.  I  watched  them  for 
a  moment  and  then  looked  out:  the  brilliance 
of  the  wintry  night  seemed  to  smite  me.  I 
glanced  up  at  the  steady  chill  light  of  the 
stars.  Wide  as  the  difference  between  their 
cold  gleams  and  the  sinister  small  gas  flames 
licking  the  bars  of  my  grate  was  the  difference 
between  the  passion  a  human  being  should  in- 
spire and  the  passion  I  felt  now.  The  old, 
eternal  problem  faced  me,  so  well  embodied 
in  the  three  lines — 

"  Vis  te  Sexte  coli  volebam  amare, 
Parendum  est  tibi  quod  jubes  colere, 
Sed  si  te  colo,  Sexte  non  amabo." 

They  passed  through  and  through  my  brain 
as  I  walked  to  and  fro.  I  knew  their  truth, 
and,  worse  still,  the  truth  of  their  converse — 
that  where  I  loved  I  could  not  worship.  Oh, 
to  get  rid  of  this  fever  in  the  blood,  this  tor- 
ture of  sense.  To  be  able  to  think  clearly 
without  the  vision  of  a  human  face  swaying 
continually  in  one's  brain,  to  shake  off  the 
close,  clinging,  serpent-like  embrace  of  desire 

86 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

and  stand  free ;  free  as  a  man  is  when  no  pulse, 
no  thought  resents  control;  when  the  brain  in 
its  cool,  quiet  order  works  like  some  perfect 
machine,  of  which  each  wheel  and  spring  ful- 
fils steadily  its  appointed  function.  And  now 
all  was  broken,  wrenched  asunder,  thrown  in- 
to confusion,  shattered;  and  what  was  left  in 
place  of  that  smooth-working  mechanism? 
But  the  distorted,  useless  gear:  disjointed 
thoughts,  half-formed  ideas,  broken  threads 
of  plans,  and  whirling  through  them  the  tor- 
turing light  of  two  pale  gleaming  eyes.  The 
humiliation  and  agony  of  Lucretius,  feeling 
the  maddening  poison  rioting  through  his 
blood,  is  that  of  every  man  at  some  time  in  his 
life. 

I  sat  by  the  fire  with  my  head  buried  in  my 
hands.  My  desire  claimed  me  for  its  own.  I 
could  think  of  nothing  but  it.  It  forced  me 
to  try  and  discover  some  means  by  which  it 
might  be  gratified  or  killed.  That  which  I 
had  done  forced  further  action  upon  me.  A 
kiss  in  some  ranks  means  nothing,  involves 
nothing,  brings  no  responsibility,  but  it  is  not 
so  in  ours.  Theodora  would  expect — and  a 
cynical  smile  crossed  my  face  as  I  thought  it 
—a  few  lines  of  passionate  pleading  to  her  to 
join  her  life  with  mine.  A  tremendous 

87 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

temptation  came  over  me  to  send  them.  One 
wild,  blind  impulse  rose  in  me  to  take  the 
present  good  and  leave  all  else  to  chance.  I 
had  nothing  to  lose,  nothing  to  suffer,  and  it 
was  perhaps  this  that  helped  me  to  stifle  the 
continual,  eager  voice  within  me,  urging 
"Yield,  yield." 

If  I  had  had  any  penalty  to  pay,  it  might 
have  blinded  my  eyes.  I  might  have  thought 
that  I  alone  should  have  to  pay  the  price ;  and 
therefore  if  I  were  willing  to  buy  my  happi- 
ness at  that  rate,  I  was  free  to  do  so ;  but  here 
I  saw  that  all  the  burden  and  all  the  sacrifice 
must  fall  on  the  loved  one  and  not  on  me.  My 
position  would  remain  exactly  the  same 
whether  I  married  Theodora  or  not.  The 
money  I  should  draw  would  be  enough  to  sup- 
port us  both,  and  my  plans  need  not  be 
changed.  My  worldly  ambition  would  not 
suffer.  The  presence  of  Theodora  in  my  life 
would  add  a  pleasure,  an  interest,  a  zest,  a 
stimulus,  and  take  nothing  from  it.  I  hardly 
dared  to  think  of  myself,  nor  of  what  our 
life  would  hold  in  it  for  me. 

It  was  Theodora  herself  who  must  give  up 
everything,  and  I  nothing.  I  was  prepared, 
in  any  case,  for  a  life  of  poverty,  discomfort, 

88 


A  MAN'S  T 

uncertainty,  possibly  danger.  I  left  nothing 
behind  me  and  I  went  to  seek  something  in 
the  way  of  name  or  fame  that  I  might  or 
might  not  find;  but  she — she  had  everything 
life  can  offer  at  present.  Could  I  ask  her  to 
blindly  lay  it  all  down  and  accept,  without  fore 
knowledge  of  it,  a  life  that  had  none  of  this 
world's  goods  in  it,  and  in  which  the  only  al- 
leviation of  its  barrenness,  the  only  consola- 
tion for  its  privations,  would  be  a  man's  pas- 
sion?— a  thing  of  which  she  had  no  knowledge, 
no  experience,  and  which  she  might  learn  to 
loathe.  And  the  step  would  be  irrevocable. 
With  her  marriage  she  would  become  de- 
pendent: her  life,  now  so  brilliant  and  secure, 
would  be  linked  indissolubly  with  my  haz- 
ardous, tumultuous,  uncertain  existence.  It 
would  be  for  her  as  if  she  embarked  from  some 
safe  and  sunny  port  in  a  slight,  unseaworthy 
vessel  on  the  changing,  varying  sea;  and  the 
port  would  vanish — she  could  never  return  to 
it.  Henceforth  she  must  cling  to  the  vessel 
or  be  left  shelterless  on  the  strand;  and  if  the 
vessel  foundered,  there  would  remain  but  the 
bleak  strand  and  the  bleaker  sea. 

No,  I  could  not:  I  could  not  ask,  speak  to 
her.    My  lips  were  locked,  and  as  the  knowl- 

89 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

edge  of  my  helplessness  grew  clearer,  my  duty 
more  sharply  defined,  the  passion  leaped  higher 
in  my  veins. 

I  hardly  loved  Theodora  then.  I  think, 
with  Balzac,  that  love  for  a  woman  comes 
after  possession.  Before,  we  are  hardly  con- 
scious of  anything  but  desire.  Still,  there  had 
always  been  a  struggling  instinct  in  me,  in  all 
my  passions,  reprehensible  though  they  might 
have  been,  to  screen  the  objects  of  them,  even 
from  those  very  passions  where  they  injured. 
It  was  this  instinct  now,  when  reason  was 
eclipsed,  that  made  me  stumble  mechanically 
over  to  my  writing-table  and  draw  a  sheet  of 
note  paper  before  me.  But  then  I  could  not 
write.  A  delicate  face  traced  itself  before 
my  eyes  on  the  white  expanse,  with  a  male  fire 
in  the  eyes,  and  a  male  curve  of  the  determined 
lip,  but  the  delicacy  half  froze  my  heart. 
Suppose  it  were  ever  my  fate  to  see  that  face 
pale  and  fade  from  me  into  the  shadows  of 
death,  and  know  that  I  was  responsible  ? 

I  took  up  my  pen  and  wrote.  I  could  not  tell 
her  the  truth.  I  could  not  say  it  was  for  her 
own  safety  that  I  was  writing  as  I  was.  If  I 
did,  I  knew  what  she  would  answer.  I  was 
convinced  that  she  would  not  have  suffered, 
unresisting,  such  a  kiss  as  mine  had  been  unless 

oo 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

she  loved  me,  and  love  in  a  nature  like  Theo- 
dora's would  lull  to  sleep  reason,  and  sense, 
and  self-command,  and  thought  of  self,  and 
deliver  her  to  me  passive  and  chained. 

I  forced  my  unwilling  hand  to  write  a  note 
in  which  I  told  her  nothing.  I  merely  apolo- 
gised for  what  I  had  done.  I  was  writing  prac- 
tically the  death-warrant  of  my  own  wishes, 
for  an  apology  under  the  circumstances  would 
mean  a  disclaimer  of  my  love,  and  every  ir- 
ritated, excited  fibre  in  my  system  revolted 
violently  from  each  word  I  wrote.  However, 
J  got  through  it  at  last,  and  rose  from  the  table 
with  every  nerve  on  edge,  and  feeling  as  if 
the  walls  of  the  room  were  approaching  on  all 
sides  to  crush  me  in  the  narrow  space.  Was 
it  necessary?  was  it  absolutely  clear  that  I 
ought  to  deny  her  to  myself  when  I  knew  she 
loved  me,  or  was  it  merely  a  Quixotism  to  be 
laughed  at?  If  I  could  believe  that  it  were! 
Butv  no,  it  seemed  to  me  perfectly  monstrous 
to  take  her  from  her  present  state  and  make 
her  my  wife,  though  she  consented  a  thousand 
times  over.  Her  consent  valued  nothing, 
since  she  had  no  knowledge  of  myself  and  no 
realisation  of  that  which  sharing  my  life  would 
mean.  These  must  come  after  she  had  made 
an  irrevocable  sacrifice,  after  she  had  left  her- 

91 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

self  helpless  and  dependent  upon  me.  Her 
consent,  her  will,  her  strenuous  wish  even  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  question.  They  were 
like  a  man's  signature  to  a  document  he  has 
not  read.  I  must  decide  for  her,  I  who  knew 
the  document  by  heart.  It  was  not  her  mere 
income  that  was  of  worth  to  her,  it  was  her 
peculiarly  independent  and  uncontrolled  posi- 
tion, the  habit  of  command  and  influence,  that 
she  must  give  up  with  it.  And  still,  even  all 
these  considerations  I  might  have  been 
tempted  to  set  aside  had  I  held  a  higher 
opinion  of  myself,  had  I  thought  I  was  a 
thoroughly  good  fellow,  with  qualities  calcu- 
lated to  repay  a  woman  for  any  sacrifice.  I 
tried  to  recall  the  different  opinions  and  re- 
marks and  verdicts  I  had  heard  at  various 
times  on  myself  and  my  conduct — all  laughed 
at,  at  the  time,  but  now  suddenly  become  of 
value.  Could  I  have  recalled  a  good  one  now 
it  would  have  given  the  keenest  pleasure.  I 
remembered  I  had  been  called  callous,  ego- 
tistical, indifferent,  cold,  heartless,  dissolute, 
conceited — all  these  men  had  said  to  me  and 
of  me.  Clever !  Yes — many,  most  people  had 
called  me  that.  This  quality  had  been  gen- 
erally coupled  with  whichever  opprobrious 
epithet  others  had  thought  justified  in  be- 

92 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

stowing  on  me.  Clever!  The  blood  passed 
over  my  face  as  the  recollection  cut  in  upon 
me  of  what  Theodora  had  said.  Suddenly 
they  recurred  to  me,  her  words  and  my  own 
sneer.  The  quality  she  looked  for  in  a  man 
was  intellect.  Well,  good.  But  that  was  but 
one  point  in  my  whole  character  in  my  favor. 
Now  for  my  life.  I  stared  absently  down 
on  the  ground,  thinking,  throwing  my  mental 
glance  back  through  it  to  the  beginning — that 
is  to  the  beginning  of  man's  life,  in  my  case 
to  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  year.  From  then 
till  now,  this  space  of  fourteen  years,  I  looked 
at  critically,  and  this  was  absolutely  clear,  that 
I,  from  my  point  of  view,  found  nothing  to 
condemn.  But  I  was  considering  now  from 
others'  standpoint,  not  my  own;  and  the  few 
people  who  had  known  my  life,  or  thought 
they  had,  had  said  it  was  evi/,  and  insisted  that 
my  seeing  nothing  reprehensible  in  my  actions 
was  the  worst  point  I  had.  This  argument 
itself  is  one  of  which  the  cogency  escapes  me. 
To  commend  a  man  because  he  knows  he  is 
doing  wrong  while  he  is  and  continues  doing  it 
has  always  been  impossible  to  me.  It  must 
prove  the  greatest  depth  of  degradation  or  of 
weakness.  When  some  such  remark  as  the 
following  has  been  made  to  me — "I  say,  do 

93 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

you  think  that's  the  right  thing  to  do,  what 
you're  doing?"  I  have  always  said  with  sur- 
prise, "Most  emphatically,  or  I  should  not  do 
it,"  and  it  has  not  been  a  form,  but  the  sim- 
plest, barest  truth.  However,  I  believe  men 
hold  that  one  who  takes  his  pleasure,  whatever 
it  may  be,  and  then  when  the  temptation  and 
error  is  past  says  in  excuse,  "I  knew  all  the 
time  I  was  acting  like  a  brute,  but  I  could  not 
help  it,"  stands  on  a  higher  rung  in  the  ladder 
of  virtue  than  a  man  like  myself.  He  has 
more  conscience.  Also,  it  has  been  said  to 
me  that  my  defence  that  my  pleasure  has  never 
made  another's  misery  has  no  weight  and  can- 
not count  in  the  balance  of  morality.  If  I 
consider  it  the  main  point,  that  shows  how  de- 
generate I  am. 

No;  those  fourteen  years  would  be  full  of 
evil.  My  past  life  would  be  accounted  bad 
from  the  standpoint  of  others — perhaps  from 
hers  then.  And  yet  in  a  sudden,  hot  glow  of 
pleasure  I  thought  not,  as  the  vision  of 
that  intellectual,  all-comprehending,  indulgent 
smile,  and  the  lips  that  had  formed  it,  rushed 
up  through  the  gloom  and  dusk  of  my  room 
before  my  eyes.  I  thought — I  thought — but 
I  had  no  business  to  think,  to  assume  things 
in  my  favor.  Theodora  might — I  did  not  be- 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

lieve  it  from  what  I  had  seen — but  still  she 
might  wake  after  her  first  dream  of  passion 
to  be  terrified  at  the  recklessness  and  the  dis- 
regard of  all  accepted  rules  of  life  in  the  man 
to  whom  she  belonged.  I  could  not  then  free 
her  and  replace  her  in  her  own  life  any  more 
than  she  could  free  herself,  nor  could  I  change 
my  own  nature.  As  for  concealment  or  decep- 
tion, I  was  far  too  innately  indolent  and  too 
absolutely  cynical  to  tolerate  it  in  any  intimate 
relation.  Then,  in  conclusion,  my  life,  like 
my  character,  must  be  accounted  against  me. 
What,  then,  remained  to  offer  her  in  exchange 
for  everything  she  now  possessed?  Noth- 
ing but  a  few  good  looks,  and  even  these  half 
spoiled  by  dissipation  and  bad  habits.  And 
supposing  these  were  powerful,  even  deterio- 
rated as  they  were,  it  seemed  immeasurably 
mean,  unspeakably  contemptible  to  trade  upon 
them  for  my  own  desires.  A  look,  a  glance 
can  catch  the  senses  and  hold  them,  and  lull 
the  reason  to  sleep  for  a  time  as  nothing  else 
can  do;  and  worst  of  all  the  reason  does  not 
only  sleep,  but  dreams  that  all  else  is  in  har- 
mony. Theodora's  sensitive  eye  would  ex- 
tract some  pleasure  from  my  face,  and  then 
all  else  would  be  supplied  to  me,  whatever  qual- 
ities she  wanted  me  to  possess,  by  her  imagi- 

95 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

nation.  And  to  think  of  this  revolted  me.  To 
let  her  see  the  looks,  and  hence  assume  the 
character,  seemed  to  me  despicable — allied  to 
the  trading  instinct  of  a  merchant  selling 
.wares,  as  vile  as  the  action  of  the  dealer  who 
puts  fresh  fruit  on  the  top  of  his  basket,  know- 
ing all  beneath  is  rotten.  God!  it  was  mon- 
strous !  I  could  not  do  it.  Better  ten  million 
times  to  forego  her.  Better  far  for  me  to  take 
the  pain  and  the  suffering  on  myself  now  and 
alone  than  see  her  irrevocably  yoked  to  it  later. 

I  came  up  to  the  table  again,  picked  up  the 
letter  with  a  decided  hand,  and  went  out.  I 
took  the  letter  to  the  end  of  the  street  and 
posted  it.  Then  I  went  on  to  Digby's  rooms, 
and  sat  up  playing  cards  with  him  and  drink- 
ing brandy  all  night.  At  five  in  the  morning 
I  was  very  drunk,  and  Digby  saw  me  home. 
I  noticed  in  a  clouded  way  how  those  beastly 
flames  were  still  playing  round  the  bricks  in 
the  grate  when  I  got  up  to  my  rooms.  I  had 
lost  a  lot  of  money,  and  was  so  intoxicated  that 
I  could  only  stagger  to  my  bed  and  fling  my- 
self upon  it,  dressed  as  I  was.  No  matter. 
The  letter  had  gone.  My  decision  was  made, 
and  Theodora  was  saved. 

The  next  day  I  had  so  bad  a  headache  that 
study  was  out  of  the  question.  I  could  hardly 

96 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

think.     In  the  evening  a  letter  came  from  her. 
I  tore  it  open.     It  consisted  of  three  lines: — 

"  Thank  you  for  your  letter.  As  to  pardon,  I  have 
none  to  give,  for  in  my  eyes  you  have  not  erred." 

That  was  all.  The  blood  rushed  burning 
over  my  face  as  I  read.  So  that  was  not  an 
error  in  her  eyes.  I  laughed  aloud  in  the 
silent,  empty  room — a  dreary  laugh  at  my  own 
thoughts.  Would  anything  be?  Anything 
that  I  did?  Perhaps  not.  But,  after  all, 
would  that  justify  me  in  my  own  eyes — the 
simple  fact  that  she  might  condone  or  forgive 
me  for  crimes  against  her?  No.  It  was  well 
that  I  had  decided  as  I  had.  A  kiss!  Well, 
what  was  a  kiss,  after  all?  It  might  be  a 
moral  sin  on  the  part  of  the  giver — a  moral 
shame  on  the  part  of  the  receiver — but  there 
was  no  injury  done,  no  suffering  entailed. 
Let  my  transgressions  against  her  cease  there. 
I  would  not  see  her  again,  nor  write  to  her, 
except  a  line  of  farewell,  before  I  left.  I 
took  the  letter  that  had  left  her  hand  and 
kissed  it  until  the  ink  grew  blurred  and  faint 
under  my  lips ;  then  I  flung  it  into  the  flames. 


.97 


CHAPTER  IV 

few  weeks  that  remained  of  my  stay  in 
London  I  used  for  seeing  old  friends  before  I 
left,  getting  a  few  things  I  needed,  and  idling 
generally.  I  saw  and  heard  nothing  of  Theo- 
dora, and  I  tried  hard  to  erase  her  image  from 
the  tablets  of  my  mind.  But  as  each  day 
brought  me  nearer  to  the  hour  for  starting,  my 
depression  grew  upon  me.  I  could  not  shake 
off  the  thought  that  I  was  going  away  from 
her  voluntarily,  perhaps  never  to  see  her  again. 
The  deserts  and  the  solitudes,  the  excavations 
and  the  ruins  had  lost  all  charm:  I  thought 
more  of  a  dark  eyebrow  and  the  touch  of  a 
slight,  burning  hand.  All  pleasure  in  the  ex- 
pedition had  gone.  A  tremendous  reaction 
had  followed  the  sudden  storm  of  passion  that 
Theodora  had  aroused,  and  though  the  storm 
had  passed  over,  the  deadly  apathy  towards  all 
other  objects,  and  towards  life  itself,  that  had 
succeeded,  was — or  might  be  if  I  yielded  to 
it — as  fatal  to  success.  I  struggled  hard 
against  it.  I  told  myself  a  dozen  times  a  day 
that  it  was  but  the  reaction  and  must  pass,  and 

98 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

I  went  on  with  all  my  preparations  in  the  teeth 
of  it.  Everything  was  mechanically  done, 
and  without  any  heart  or  spirit  being  put  into 
it.  Still  it  was  done,  and  the  day  fixed  on  for 
leaving  came  and  found  me,  at  six  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  sitting  in  my  chambers,  my  two 
portmanteaux  packed,  all  my  charts  and  maps 
stripped  from  the  wall,  the  narrow  room  en- 
tirely dismantled.  I  was  leaving  by  the  even- 
ing Dover  train  from  Victoria.  I  had  begged 
my  friends  not  to  come  and  see  me  off.  I  did 
not  wish  to  be  made  to  feel  I  was  taking  a 
solemn  and  eternal  farewell  of  England. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  I  had  said  to  Digby,  "I 
am  so  uncertain:  I  may  be  back  again  in  a 
year's  time,  and  off  somewhere  else,  and  then 
you'll  have  all  this  goodbye-ing  to  do  over 
again.  It's  waste  of  time." 

So  now  I  sat  alone.  Everything  was 
finished,  and  it  was  yet  too  early  to  start  for 
the  station.  I  fell  to  wondering  in  a  vague 
way  whether  Theodora  had  cared  much  or 
little  or  not  at  all  when  she  had  heard  that  I 
was  going.  She  had  not  answered  my  letter, 
but  that  told  me  nothing. 

"There  is  a  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir." 

"That  confounded  Digby,  after  all,"  I 
thought. 

99 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"He  can  come  in,"  I  said  to  the  boy,  and 
turned  to  find  the  lucif  ers. 

Before  I  had  succeeded  in  this,  however,  I 
heard  a  quick  step,  a  figure  passed  swiftly 
into  the  room  and  came  up  to  me  in  the 
darkness,  and  the  next  moment  there  was  the 
burning  clasp  of  another  hand  upon  mine. 
That  touch  1  Could  I  ever  fail  to  recognise  it? 
I  knew  it  was  Theodora's  hand.  That  hand 
of  velvet,  with  all  its  tiny  bones  so  flexible  and 
so  easily  crushable,  and  yet  with  such  a  tre- 
mendous fire  in  the  smooth  palm.  And  the 
sudden  touch  of  it  seemed  to  send  a  river  of 
pain  through  my  whole  body — or  was  it  pleas- 
ure? It  is  hard  to  say:  these  two  in  their  in- 
tensity are  almost  one.  Then  through  the 
darkness  came  a  voice,  her  voice,  but  strained, 
thin,  and  sharp  with  agonised  shame  and 
fear — 

"Cecil!  you  are  not  angry  with  me?" 

"Angry,  Theodora!  How  could  I  be  angry 
with  you?"  I  answered. 

I  was  standing  still.  My  heart  seemed  to 
have  ceased  beating,  the  blood  to  be  held 
checked  in  my  veins.  My  only  thought  was 
that  she  had  come  to  say  good-bye  to  me,  and 
between  the  excitement  her  presence  always 
roused  in  me  and  the  terror  that  it  might  lead 

100 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

me  to  undo  what  I  had  done  for  her  sake,  I 
was  held  immovable  and  almost  speechless. 

"Why  have  you  come,  dear?"  I  murmured, 
hardly  audible. 

She  gave  a  strained,  hysterical  laugh. 

"You  are  all  in  the  dark,"  she  said.  "Now!" 
and  she  suddenly  struck  a  match  of  her  own 
and  put  it  to  the  gas  burner  over  our  heads. 

"Now,  does  my  dress  tell  you  nothing?" 

The  gas  blazed  up,  and  she  stood  under  the 
full  flare  of  it,  and  I  saw  then  that  she  was 
dressed  in  an  ordinary  suit  of  man's  clothes 
and  a  fur  lined  overcoat.  I  saw  these  things 
indeed,  but  my  gaze  was  fixed  upon  her  face 
and  the  nervous,  widely-dilated  eyes,  that,  full 
of  an  agony  of  confusion  as  they  were,  yet 
met  and  remained  on  mine.  A  hot  line  of  car- 
mine glowed  feverishly  beneath  them  on  the 
otherwise  blanched  face.  The  fear,  pain,  and 
terrible  excitement  on  the  delicate  countenance 
went  to  my  heart  and  pierced  it  through  its 
own  tumultuous,  expectant  delight. 

"Explain,"  I  said  very  gently,  and  I  closed 
my  right  hand  firmly  over  hers.  "Theodora, 
you  know  you  may  say  anything  freely  to 
me." 

"You  are  going  to-night,"  she  said,  giving  a 
fleeting  glance  round  the  room,  and  then 

101 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

bringing  her  burning  eyes  back  to  my  face, 
"and  I  have  come  to  go  with  you,  if  you  wish. 
Cecil,  I  know  you  care  for  me,"  and  I  saw  her 
lips  whiten  from  the  excitement  that  forced 
the  words  from  her.  "I  am  convinced  of  it. 
Otherwise,  of  course  ...  of  course  .  .  . 
And  some  idea,  some  myth,  is  separating  us. 
You  said  you  wanted  to  take  some  friend, 
some  companion  with  you,  only  you  knew  no 
one  you  cared  for  sufficiently.  Then  you  said 
it  would  be  impossible  to  take  a  wife  there, 
don't  you  remember?  That  the  life  wouldn't 
suit  a  woman,  or  something.  But  you  did  say 
you  wished  there  was  some  nice  fellow  who 
could  go  out  with  you.  Well,  let  me  come, 
Cecil,  instead !"  She  trembled  excessively ;  the 
hand  in  mine  fluttered  convulsively;  her  face 
paled  till  even  the  flush  of  shame  died  out  of 
it.  "I  have  taken  this  dress  so  as  to  be  no 
trouble  to  you.  No  one  will  know  who  I  am, 
nor  guess  that  I  am  a  woman.  Now,  would 
they  ever?'* 

And  she  stepped  a  little  back  from  me  and 
raised  her  face  towards  the  light.  And  I 
looked  at  her,  and  my  brain  seemed  suddenly 
to  reel.  Here  was  what  I  had  been  desiring 
and  craving  put  into  my  very  hands  freely, 
without  cost  to  me,  without  the  least  sacrifice 

102 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

demanded  in  return.  This  form  I  coveted 
was  here,  instinct  with  life,  and  the  double  life 
lent  it  at  this  moment  by  its  passions.  This 
torturer  of  my  dreams,  this  disturber  of  my 
waking  moments  was  here,  clothed  in  the 
actual,  tangible,  visible,  desirable  beauty  of 
the  flesh,  demanding  nothing  but  that  I  should 
take  and  enjoy  it,  within  reach  of  my  hand, 
and  nothing  between  us  except  unwritten  laws. 
The  great  unwritten  laws  of  Self  and  the 
Other,  and  these  seemed  like  some  huge  hand 
that  kept  me  from  her. 

I  turned  from  her  sharply  and  took  a  few 
steps  towards  the  window,  and  fixed  my  eyes 
on  the  blank  panes,  anywhere,  so  that  they 
were  not  on  that  nervous,  trembling,  excited 
frame.  For  a  second  it  seemed  I  could  not 
summon  enough  self-control  to  speak  to  her. 
For  a  second  my  command  seemed  fallen 
amongst  the  clamour  of  the  senses,  as  the 
driver's  reins  under  the  trampling  hoofs  of  his 
team.  There  was  a  second  or  two  of  silence, 
and  then,  with  my  hand  on  the  throat  of  my 
own  desire,  I  walked  back  to  her  where  she 
stood  on  my  hearth. 

"Theodora,  you  don't  realise  the  sacrifice 
you  are  making,  but  I  do,  and  it  is  too  great, 
I  cannot  accept  it.  It  is  impossible." 

103 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

Theodora  paled  till  she  was  whiter  than  the 
ash  in  the  grate. 

" Sacrifice!  Cecil,  what  do  you  mean?  I 
am  making  no  sacrifice.  I  am  simply  striving 
after  my  own  great  wish." 

The  unsparing  knowledge  of  self,  and  the 
open  confession  to  it  that  lay  in  the  liquid  eyes 
meeting  mine,  took  the  place  of  another 
woman's  confusion.  It  was  not  so  difficult 
to  speak  to  her  as  it  would  have  been  to  a 
more  childish  intelligence.  I  did  not  dare  to 
touch  her,  nor  take  her  hand.  It  was  as  much 
as  I  could  do  to  look  at  her  and  still  speak. 

"It  may  be  your  own  wish  now,"  I  said. 
"But  unconsciously  you  are  paying  too  high  a 
price  for  it.  Think  what  your  life  is.  You 
have  everything  in  it  that  money  can  give. 
You  may  not  value  it  because  you  have  it,  and 
have  always  had  it;  but  you  would  regret  it. 
You  will  give  up  everything,  and  I  have  noth- 
ing to  give  you  to  replace  it — absolutely  noth- 
ing." 

"Except  yourself;  except  your  looks,  and 
the  fact  that  you  are  the  man  I —  Oh,  you 
don't  understand!"  she  added  vehemently. 
"It  is  worth  all  those  things!" 

"Yes,  I  do  understand,"  I  said,  feeling  my- 
self pale  and  colour  momentarily  with  the 

104 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

stress  of  those  impulses  she  was  either  pur- 
posely or  unconsciously  exciting.  "I  under- 
stand much  better  than  you  do.  The  first 
fortnight  I  should  be  able  to  compensate  you 
for  everything,  and  after  that — what  then? 
A  bare  hut  on  a  stretch  of  sand,  a  fearful 
climate,  no  possible  occupation  or  distraction, 
no  human  being  but  myself  to  speak  to,  no 
society  but  that  of  a  herd  of  native  workmen, 
every  kind  of  hardship,  and  above  all  the  prob- 
able sickness  and  disease  to  suffer, — this  for 
you,  coming  from  your  life  of  pleasure  and 
independence,  surrounded  by  amusement,  flat- 
tery, and  every  sort  of  gratification ;  where  you 
have  only  to  form  a  wish  to  have  it  fulfilled! 
I  couldn't  let  you  make  the  change,  Theodora. 
You  would  inevitably  regret  it,  and  then  I 
should  have  no  power  to  give  these  things  back 
to  you.  However  you  repented  afterwards, 
neither  of  us  could  undo  the  step;  you  could 
never  get  back  the  position  you  have  now.  I 
shall  be  a  poor  man  all  my  life;  and,  dearest, 
passion  is  a  thing  of  months  at  best;  life  is  a 
things  of  years,  or  may  be." 

Theodora  turned  and  stretched  out  her  arms 
upon  the  mantelpiece,  and  laid  her  head  down 
upon  them. 

"Equally,  life  is  not  measured  by  years  but 

105 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

by  enjoyment,"  she  answered  in  a  low  tone. 
"There  is  nothing  you  can  say,  Cecil,  which  I 
have  not  thought  of.  I  have  weighed  and  con- 
sidered all  these  things,  and  my  own  mind  is 
absolutely  made  up.  The  future  to  the 
future.  We  are  both  living  in  this  hour,  and 
that  is  all  we  can  call  our  own."  There  was 
a  desperate,  strained  silence  between  us.  My 
dizzy  brain  was  striving  to  collect  the  nervous, 
feverish  thoughts  and  disentangle  them  for 
speech,  and  then  suddenly  Theodora  threw 
back  her  head  and  looked  at  me.  Her  eyes 
were  blazing  with  appealing,  supplicating 
desire,  her  face  changed  from  white  to  a  flame 
of  scarlet  and  then  back  again  to  almost  grey. 
She  stood  close  to  me,  as  close  as  it  is  possible 
to  be  without  actual  contact,  so  close  that  the 
warmth  of  her  being  fell  distinctly  upon  mine. 

"Cecil,  it  is  not  in  me  to  care  for  any  man 
who  is  indifferent  to  me.  This  passion  was 
born  in  your  own  kiss.  It  was  then  and  not 
till  then,  only  then,  that  I  made  a  vow — within 
two  weeks  I  am  this  man's.  But  if  now, 
honestly,  in  honour,  you  can  look  into  my  eyes 
and  say  you  do  not  love  me  as  I  thought,  I  wrill 
leave  you  this  minute." 

Her  gaze  searched  my  face  keenly.  This 
was  what  I  had  always  thought,  that  Theo- 

106 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

dora's  love  was  but  the  result  of  mine;  that 
from  the  first  she  had  loved  my  passion  for 
herself,  clothed  in  a  form  that  had  happened 
to  catch  her  fancy  and  please  her  senses. 
Those  natures  that  are  intensely  responsive,  as 
hers,  are  the  last  to  give  spontaneously.  The 
tendency  to  eagerly  and  readily  respond  is 
often  confused  with  the  tendency  to  offer  un- 
asked, but  in  reality  these  two  are  exactly  oppo- 
site. This  extreme  sensitiveness  to  emotion  in 
another,  this  sympathetic  excitability  proves 
the  absence  rather  than  the  presence  of  an 
ability  to  fall  into  any  particular  state  of  feel- 
ing without  exterior  excitement.  I  felt  if  I 
had  not  lost  my  self-command,  if  I  had  not, 
as  I  had,  virtually  told  her,  though  with  closed 
lips,  that  I  loved  her,  she  would  never  have 
sought  me  nor  ever  felt  a  pulse  beat  quicker 
at  the  thought  of  me.  And  now  the  oppor- 
tunity was  here  to  undo  the  evil  I  had  done,  or 
at  least  to  prevent  the  greater  resultant  evil 
of  accepting  her  complete  sacrifice.  If  I 
chose  to  act  the  part  well,  if  I  told  her  she  had 
been  misled,  if  I  hinted  I  was  unwilling  or 
indifferent,  I  knew  I  could  drive  her  from  me 
without  difficulty — and  drive  her  from  me  not 
to  despair,  nor  even  great  or  long  regret,  as 
might  be  the  case  with  a  differently  constituted 

107 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

woman,  but  simply  back  to  her  former  life. 
Once  convince  her  that  I  had  no  desire  for  her, 
her  own  would  die,  wither.  I  knew  it  without 
her  telling  me.  Her  extreme  susceptibility, 
mental  and  physical,  denied  the  power  to  love 
without  return.  There  would  be  no  tears,  no 
despairing  draught  of  poison.  I  could  im- 
agine her  going  back  with  a  reckless  openness 
and  indifference  to  her  disguise,  and  facing 
her  sister  with  a  careless  laugh.  And  as  for 
me,  one  slight  sentence  would  be  sufficient: 
"Oh  yes,  he  had  got  over  his  fancy  for  me !  I 
offered  to  go  with  him,  but — "  and  here  a 
laugh  and  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "I  never 
saw  a  fellow  so  frigid!"  It  all  passed  in  a 
painful  flash  through  me,  and  the  idea  that  I 
ought  perhaps  in  this  way  to  force  her  back 
into  security,  but  it  passed  from  me  as  quickly 
as  it  came.  Not  even  for  her  sake  would  I 
look  into  her  eyes  and  swear  a  lie.  And 
nothing  short  of  this  would  be  of  any  avail. 
To  tell  her  that  myself  was  as  unworthy  of 
her  as  my  worldly  position,  to  speak  of  my 
vices  and  the  character  I  possessed  amongst 
my  friends,  to  prove  the  small  likelihood  of 
my  rendering  her  life  a  happy  one,  I  saw 
would  all  be  useless.  To  tell  a  woman, 
blinded  by  physical  desire,  of  the  imperfections 

108 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

of  her  lover,  is  like  throwing  straws  against  a 
brick  wall.  Nothing  would  save  her  now  ex- 
cept a  deliberate,  lying  denial  of  my  own 
passion,  and  this  I  was  too  naturally  honour- 
able or  too  naturally  selfish  to  be  able  to  force 
to  my  lips. 

"Well,  Cecil,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  had 
an  infinite  seduction  in  it,  the  whole  inflection 
of  reason  overthrown,  "  can  you  say  you  do 
not  want  me?"  And  she  raised  one  arm  and 
put  her  hand  round  my  neck  above  the  collar. 

There  was  just  a  tinge  of  mockery  on  the 
soft  dividing  lips,  a  shade  of  provoking  scorn 
on  the  whole  charming  face  raised  to  me,  that 
stung  me  as  she  meant  it  should;  but  even  in 
that  instant,  above  the  fierce  desires  struggling 
for  uncontrolled  sway  within  me,  rose  that 
knowledge  of  danger  for  her  that  had  pro- 
tected her  from  me  up  till  now. 

As  a  man  in  a  nightmare  or  delirium  tries 
with  his  slight,  feeble  arms  to  ward  off  the  host 
of  huge,  horrible,  overpowering,  indefinable 
presences  that  crowd  in  upon  his  bed,  so  I 
instinctively  put  forth  as  a  shield  before  the  de- 
structive blaze  of  our  own  passions  the  next 
thin,  frail,  useless,  foolish  words. 

"Would  it  not  be  better  to  wait  for  me  till 
I  return?  When  I  may  have  more  to  offer, 

109 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

and  when  at  least  I  need  not  take  you  into 
danger?" 

"Wait!  perhaps  I  might  have  said  'Yes'  at 
fifteen,  but  I  am  three-and-twenty,  and  I  have 
not  yet  known  happiness  and  love.  Fate  has 
always  withheld  her  two  greatest  gifts.  Cecil, 
are  you  going  to  withhold  them  too?" 

With  that  last  appeal  she  swept  from  me 
the  remnant  of  my  power  to  check  the  im- 
pulses within  me.  Her  last  words  had  a  bitter 
reproach  in  them,  and  they  stung  me  beyond 
endurance.  I  felt  the  tremendous  flood  of 
rebellious  eager  passion  she  had  roused  surging 
through  me,  the  all-conquering,  all-destroying 
tide  in  which  our  highest  and  our  lowest  feel- 
ings mix  and  mingle.  One  great  impulse,  one 
instinct  urged  and  spurred  me — to  confer  that 
happiness,  if  indeed  I  could,  which  she  said 
she  coveted  and  I  denied.  I  crushed  the  soft, 
hot  hand  within  my  own,  and  threw  my  other 
arm  round  her  shoulders,  drawing  her  close  to 
my  breast,  pressing  her  to  it,  and  kissed  her. 
There  was  no  need  of  words.  In  my  touch,  in 
my  eyes,  in  the  beat  of  the  pulse  in  the  arm 
round  her  neck,  she  must  have  read  all  and 
been  satisfied.  Theodora  suffered  it,  but  she 
did  not  respond,  actively.  She  gave  me  no 
kiss  nor  the  faintest  caress  in  return.  She 

no 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

merely  sank,  yielded  to  my  embrace,  lay  in  it 
as  her  hand  had  lain  in  mine.  Some  women 
inflame  us  by  their  resistance,  others  by  their 
compliance.  It  was  this  last  with  Theodora. 
It  was  her  sudden,  complete  abandonment  of 
self,  the  entire  throwing  away  of  her  own  will, 
the  apparent  absolute  merging  of  all  volition 
into  another's,  that  must  have  always  set  ablaze 
all  the  manhood  of  a  man  who  loved  her. 
Like  a  soft  snake  within  one's  grasp,  like  a 
thick  parasite  creeper  lying  along  a  branch, 
she  had  sunk  into  my  arms  and  her  head  was 
heavy  upon  my  shoulder.  She  seemed  in  those 
moments  will-less,  soulless,  mentally  and 
physically  powerless,  the  mere  incarnation  of 
devotion  to  another,  of  absolute  submission. 

There  are  infinite  variations  in  the  manner 
of  receiving  an  embrace  corresponding  to  the 
infinite  varieties  of  women,  from  the  laughing 
resistance  of  the  pretty  debutante  to  the  seri- 
ous passion  of  a  woman  whose  violent  response 
forms  one-half  of  it ;  from  the  innocent,  child- 
like return  given  by  the  mindless  schoolgirl, 
to  the  chaste  restraint  of  the  woman  who  with- 
draws chillingly  after  the  first  kiss.  But  no 
woman  has  ever  met  my  arms  as  Theodora  did, 
with  such  a  strange,  almost  terrible  surrender 
of  personal  will.  And  no  woman  has  ever 

in 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

moved  me  one  millionth  part  as  much.  This 
intense,  burning,  silent  passivity,  this  very  un- 
responsiveness  of  the  nervous  frame,  seemed 
to  constitute  a  tremendous,  infinite  demand; 
to  be  the  expression  of  a  boundless  longing  to 
be  loved;  a  desire  that  would  absorb  all  that 
one  could  give  and  yet  would  be  unsatisfied; 
and  the  intensity,  the  illimitability  of  the  de- 
mand roused  my  passion  and  my  will  to  meet 
it  to  their  utmost  height.  As  no  other  woman 
has  ever  done,  she  seemed  to  give  a  tremendous 
challenge  to  my  desire  for  herself,  my  vanity, 
and  mere  nature,  and  all  three  leaped  up  in  an 
uncalculated,  unmeasured,  mad  response. 
Was  it  a  second  or  a  minute,  a  minute  or  half- 
an-hour,  that  I  held  her?  I  could  not  tell. 
Time  is  not  measured,  as  she  had  said,  by 
number,  but  by  sensation.  The  next  thing  in 
my  memory  was  her  voice  saying,  "Then  you 
will  take  me  with  you?"  And  I  answered, 
"Yes,  I  will  take  you." 

"Let  us  go  now  before  we  are  prevented. 
We  have  no  time  to  lose." 

With  an  effort  I  released  her  and  turned 
my  eyes  away  from  her.  They  fell  on  the 
ready  strapped  portmanteaux.  Luggage, 
cabs,  railways,  catching  and  losing  trains,  these 
were  the  things  I  tried  to  bend  my  delirious 

112 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

thoughts  to  and  calm  them  by  recalling  what 
had  to  be  done.  I  drew  out  my  watch  me- 
chanically. 

"We  might  still  catch  that  train,"  I  said, 
feeling  in  an  unreal  dream.  Was  Theodora, 
after  all,  coming  with  me?  Was  it  "we"  and 
not  "I"  any  longer?  "You  have  no  things, 
of  course?" 

"None.  But  I  brought  money  with  me.  I 
shall  be  no  expense  to  you." 

"That's  unworthy  of  you!"  I  said,  with  a 
flush  of  pain  at  her  words.  "You  know — " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Theodora  impulsively. 
"You  would  give  me  all  you  had,  but  then 
I  feel  just  the  same,  and  so  I  brought  all  I 
could."  And  she  drew  out  a  pocket-book  with, 
apparently,  notes  in  it. 

"Keep  it  then,"  I  said,  turning  her  hand 
aside,  and  rang  for  the  boy  to  take  my  lug- 
gage. 

While  we  stood  waiting  I  looked  at  her 
critically  for  the  first  time.  The  disguise  was 
perfect,  as  she  said.  Both  face  and  figure 
yielded  completely  to  the  character  given 
them  by  the  dress.  The  tremendous  mass  of 
hair  had  been  cut  away,  and  what  was  left 
curled  now  close  round  the  head  in  resentful 
curls,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  for  any 

113 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

one  to  believe  that  the  pale,  brilliant  face  with 
its  straight  features  and  dark  line  on  the  up- 
per lip,  was  not  that  of  some  handsome  boy 
of  nineteen  or  twenty. 

We  went  down  to  the  door,  and  had  the 
portmanteaux  put  on  a  hansom  and  drove  to 
Victoria.  In  the  cab  I  asked  how  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  sacrifice  that  lovely  hair. 
Theodora  gave  a  laugh  that  sounded  above 
the  clatter  of  the  hansom,  and  I  felt  her 
hand  seek  mine,  upon  my  knee,  and  close  on 
it 

"My  dear  Cecil!"  she  said,  turning  to  me 
with  her  eyebrows  raised,  "I  would  have  paid 
with  my  life  for  these  hours  with  you  I  Do 
you  suppose  I  care  a  hang  about  my  hair?  It 
was  such  a  great  bunch,"  she  went  on,  laugh- 
ing, "to  cut  off,  and  then  I  didn't  know  in  the 
least  what  to  do  with  it.  It  nearly  put  the 
fire  out,  and  wodged  up  all  the  grate.  How- 
ever, I  burned  it  up  at  last." 

I  was  silent.  The  light,  careless  words  in 
the  mocking  voice  conveyed  an  indefinite  re- 
proach to  my  ears.  It  might  be  a  slight  thing 
in  itself,  this  first  sacrifice,  but  it  seemed  to 
me  the  sinister  beginning  of  an  evil  series. 
Her  very  recklessness  of  self,  in  tone  and 
thought  stirred  a  strange,  nameless  sensation 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

ef  mingled  delight  and  dread.  It  threw  a 
heavier  responsibility  still  upon  me.  It  left  a 
delicious,  limitless  power  in  my  hands,  and  I 
saw  she  would  be  too  heedless,  too  careless, 
too  confident  in  me,  to  think  of  restraining  me 
if  I  used  it  ill.  The  next  moment,  on  the  flood 
of  personal  pleasure  that  filled  me,  the  pitying, 
compassionate  thoughts  drifted  from  my  mind 
like  whirling  straws  in  a  torrent. 

When  we  got  into  the  station,  the  Dover 
train  was  drawn  up,  ready  to  leave  the  plat- 
form. There  was  only  just  time  to  have  my 
luggage  thrown  into  the  van  and  get  our 
tickets. 

"We  must  get  a  carriage  alone,"  I  said,  as 
we  hurried  down  the  train.  "Here's  this — 
First  Smoking.  This  will  do." 

We  got  in  and  tpok  our  seats  at  the  end 
of  the  empty  carriage.  I  had  drawn  the  rug 
over  Theodora  and  the  blind  across  the  win- 
dow to  shut  out  the  icy  draught,  and  the  train 
was  already  in  motion  when  the  door  was  torn 
open  and  another  passenger  plunged  in  upon 
us.  His  bag  followed,  and  the  door  was 
slammed  to  behind  him.  We  both  scanned 
him  hastily,  but  it  was  no  one  we  knew:  only 
an  ordinary  stranger  who  had  intruded  upon 
us  at  the  last  minute. 

115 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"Confound  him,"  I  murmured,  and  Theo- 
dora looked  at  me  and  laughed. 

The  night  was  arctic.  The  steam  froze 
rapidly  into  an  opaque  sheet  over  the  window. 
The  air  in  the  carriage  was  so  cold  that  it 
brought  a  numbing,  soporific  influence  with  it. 
We  all  three  smoked  hard  to  keep  up  some 
attempt  at  warmth,  and  I  drew  up  Theodora's 
fur  collar  round  her  neck  and  asked  her  if  she 
felt  the  cold  very  much.  As  she  looked  up 
with  her  quick  smile,  I  saw  the  marks  of  fa- 
tigue and  sleeplessness  like  livid  bruises  under 
her  eyes. 

"You  are  tired.  Put  your  head  down  on 
my  shoulder  and  go  to  sleep,"  I  said,  putting 
my  arm  round  her  waist. 

"Won't  that  look  too  affectionate?"  she  mur- 
mured back  with  a  glance  at  our  companion 
in  the  corner.  "We  must  be  careful." 

"Hang  him,"  I  answered.  "Never  mind 
what  it  looks;  it  doesn't  matter." 

Theodora  laid  her  head  down  on  my 
shoulder  with  a  contented  sigh,  and  her  lids 
fell  heavily  over  her  eyes.  The  fellow  in  the 
corner  peered  curiously  at  us  round  his  Globe., 
and  looked  intently  at  the  white  face  on  my 
arm.  I  opened  my  own  paper  and  held  it  up 
in  nr£  right  hand  before  us  to  shade  the  light 

116 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

from  her  eyes,  and  my  own  face  from  criti- 
cism, as  I  looked  down  at  her. 

When  we  were  only  a  short  distance  from 
Dover  I  spoke  to  her.  She  looked  up  im- 
mediately. Our  companion  had  fallen  asleep 
in  his  corner. 

"You  are  tired,  Theodora,  too  tired  to  cross 
to-night.  Let  us  stop  in  Dover  and  go  on 
to-morrow  morning,"  I  said. 

The  colour  leaped  over  her  face,  and  she 
answered  quickly,  "Oh  no,  Cecil!  Let  us  go 
on.  You  would  if  you  were  alone,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"Yes,  I  was  going  straight  through  to  Mar- 
seilles; but,  darling,  there  is  no  hurry.  You 
are  very  tired — let  us  stay  here  to-night,"  and 
I  pressed  her  tightly  to  me. 

"No,  Cecil,  I  don't  want  to,"  she  said  de- 
cidedly, and  then,  with  a  flash  from  under  the 
white  lids,  "You  know  you  are  not  thinking 
of  my  being  tired !" 

I  coloured  and  loosened  my  arm. 

"And  is  it  a  great  crime?"  I  murmured, 
looking  at  her. 

"Well,  but  any  way,  don't  ask  me  to  stay- 
please  don't;  let's  go  straight  on." 

She  looked  so  excited  and  distressed  that  I 
could  do  nothing  but  yield. 

117 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"Certainly.  Of  course,  it  shall  be  as  you 
like,"  I  answered. 

It  was  an  excessively  cold  night  for  cross- 
ing. Theodora  and  I  were  both  too  restless 
to  go  below.  We  walked  up  and  down  the 
deck,  talking  for  the  most  part  in  rather  a 
strained  way  on  indifferent  subjects,  of  which 
we  were  neither  of  us  thinking — at  least  I  was 
not.  My  mind  would  keep  reverting  to  the 
inexplicable  way  women  have  of  treating,  one 
may  say,  their  own  wishes. 

A  man  will  always  take  the  quickest,  short- 
est route  to  the  fulfilment  of  his  desires,  and 
seize  his  enjoyment  the  moment  he  can  get  it. 
But  a  woman,  with  her  desire  within  reach, 
will  hold  aloof  from  it  till  the  last  possible 
moment,  even  at  the  imminent  risk  of  losing 
it  altogether. 

Theodora's  passion  must  have  been  equal  to 
my  own,  considering  she  had  thrown  over 
every  material  and  personal  advantage  merely 
to  gratify  it,  and  yet,  not  even  for  the  gravest 
and  weightiest  reasons  would  I  have  deferred 
our  pleasure  now,  as  she  did,  for  no  reason 
whatever.  I  could  not  pay  attention  to  what 
she  was  saying.  I  was  wondering  how,  with 
all  that  fever  burning  in  the  soft,  tremulous 
arm  and  hand  resting  on  mine,  she  could  per- 
ns 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

sist  in  prolonging  these  strained,  uneasy  re- 
lations, and  in  torturing  me  with  this  for- 
mal, decorous  talk  about  the  stars  and  what 
not. 

When  we  reached  Paris,  between  six  and 
seven  the  following  morning,  I  urged  the 
same  thing  again — that  we  might  pause  here 
— with  the  same  result,  a  rigid  refusal,  and 
when  I  pressed  the  point,  a  burst  of  excited 
tears. 

"Leave  me  in  peace  till  Marseilles,  Cecil," 
she  reiterated,  her  face  burning  and  turning 
her  eyes  away  from  me,  as  we  sat  over  our 
coffee  in  the  Paris  waiting-room. 

I  shall  never  forget  how  irresistibly  charm- 
ing she  looked  at  that  moment  to  my  eyes,  as 
she  sat  opposite  me  on  the  horse-hair  railway 
couch,  the  fur  over-coat  thrown  open  at  her 
white  neck,  and  the  small  dark  head  and 
straight  features  outlined  against  the  grimy 
waiting-room  wall  as  she  turned  from  me  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  tremulous  lips,  and  brim- 
ming eyes. 

"But  why?"  I  persisted.  "At  Marseilles, 
perhaps,  you  will  say  the  same  thing.  We 
can't  go  on  travelling  perpetually;  we  may  as 
well  stay  here  as  anywhere." 

"But  I  don't  want  to.  Why,  you've  ad- 
H9 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

mitted  you  were  going  on  to  Marseilles  with- 
out stopping  if  you  had  been  alone." 

"It  is  nonsense  to  talk  of  what  I  should 
have  done  if  I  had  been  alone!"  I  said,  flush- 
ing. "To  have  you  with  me  like  this,  and  to 
be  alone,  are  two  totally  different  things!" 

I  could  not  trust  myself  to  speak  further. 
I  got  up  and  left  her  there,  feeling  a  gust  of 
irritated  anger  eclipse  my  love  for  her. 

Love!     It  is  a  pity  to  so  debase  the  word. 

I  went  on  to  the  platform  and  walked  up 
and  down  it. 

I  hare  a  strong  leaning  to  the  qualities  and 
attributes  of  my  own  sex,  and  now  Theodora 
was  acting  in  the  most  feminine  way,  and  dis- 
playing that  most  aggravating  trait  in  women, 
of  seeming  inability  to  come  to  the  point  in 
anything.  Moreover,  I  had  a  keen  suspicion 
that  another  feminine  and  very  contemptible 
motive  was  at  work — the  delight  that  women 
take  in  testing  a  man,  and  seeing  how  much 
he  can  endure  without  losing  his  head.  How- 
ever, after  a  few  turns,  I  took  a  gentler  view. 

Was  it  not  natural  that  a  girl  like  this, 
taught  from  her  first  years  to  regard  modesty 
and  chastity  as  next  to  or  dearer  than  her  life 
itself,  as  an  inseparable,  integral  part  of  everj 
phrase  or  action,  should  feel  an  almost  insuper- 

120 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

able,  involuntary  shrinking  before  the  first  vio- 
lent uprooting  of  these  ingrained,  ingrown 
habits?  Not  even  the  impetus  of  passion  can 
wholly  sweep  away  the  clinging  impressions 
of  three-and-twenty  years.  It  was  these, 
rather  than  anything  else,  that  were  against 
me.  And  could  I  wish  these  absent?  No;  it 
was  clear  that  I  was  a  brute.  And,  full  of 
humiliation,  I  hurried  back  to  her.  She  had 
not  moved. 

"Forgive  me  for  speaking  as  I  did,"  I  said 
gently.  "We  will  go  on  to  Marseilles  by  the 
9  A.M.  train.  But  promise  me  that  you  won't 
insist  farther." 

She  looked  up,  with  the  colour  flooding  all 
her  face. 

"I  promise,  Cecil.     I've  said  it." 

We  made  no  further  allusion  to  the  matter, 
and  took  the  nine  train  southwards  from  the 
Lyons  station. 

Theodora  recovered  all  her  natural  gaiety 
and  ease  with  me.  She  made  no  objection  to 
my  choosing  a  carriage  empty  save  for  our- 
selves, and  paying  the  guard  to  keep  it  so. 
She  did  insist,  however,  on  our  maintaining 
opposite  sides  of  the  carriage. 

"Take  that  nice,  comfortable  corner,"  she 
said,  laughing,  and  throwing  herself  into  the 

121 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

other  directly  opposite.  "I  have  lots  to  talk 
to  you  about,  and  I  find  that  you  pay  prac- 
tically no  attention  whatever  when  you  are  be- 
side mel" 

I  obeyed  and  sat  down  opposite  her.  She 
got  out  of  her  pocket  a  packet  of  cigarette 
papers  and  began  to  roll  up  cigarettes. 

"Don't  you  want  to  know  how  I  got  away 
and  came  to  you?"  she  said  after  a  minute. 

"Very  much;  but,  after  all,  the  great  point 
is  that  you  did  it." 

"First  tell  me,  Cecil,  do  you  like  my  dress, 
and  me  in  it?" 

She  flushed  and  spoke  with  visible  hesitation. 
I  had  not  liked  to  allude  to  her  dress,  nor 
notice  it  more  than  I  could  help,  for  fear  of 
embarrassing  her.  Now  that  she  asked  me,  I 
cast  my  eyes  over  her  figure  with  undisguised 
admiration. 

"You  look  adorable  in  it;  and  the  turn-out 
is  first-rate.  How  did  you  get  it?" 

"I  went  to  a  tailor's  in  Bond  Street  and  told 
them  I  was  going  to  a  fancy  dress  ball  as  a 
nineteenth  century  masher,"  she  said,  offering 
me  the  cigarettes  she  had  been  making,  "and 
that  I  wanted  a  perfect  fit  out,  the  best  they 
could  do,  and  that  I  did  not  care  what  the  bill 
came  to  as  long  as  I  was  satisfied.  I  said  I 

122 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

wanted  afternoon  clothes,  not  evening.  The 
fur  overcoat  I  bought  there  too,  saying  I 
should  want  it  after  the  ball.  .  The  clothes 
were  sent  up  to  the  house,  but  my  own  maid 
took  them  in,  as  I  had  ordered  her  to,  and  she 
might  have  thought  they  were  tailor-made 
dresses.  Well  then,  when  I  tried  them  on  and 
looked  in  the  glass,  and  knew  I  was  coming 
to  you  in  them,  I  laughed.  I  thought  I 
looked  very  nice  in  them;  they  happen  to  suit 
my  face  and  figure  and  all  that;  but,  you 
know,  it  seemed  very  funny.  Girls  are  al- 
ways represented  as  trying  on  their  wedding 
dress  and  orange  blossoms,  and  thinking  their 
lover  will  admire  them  in  it.  But,  somehow, 
as  I  looked  at  my  own  reflection,  I  felt  certain 
that  you  would  not  mind  this  in  place  of  the 
orthodox  white  satin!" 

I  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  then  I  said, 
looking  her  full  in  the  face,  "You  were  quite 
right  in  divining  that  I  should  not  mind  you  in 
this  dress,  and  that  I  am  not  a  stickler  for 
orthodoxy  and  white  satin;  but  still,  I  should 
have  preferred  to  marry  you,  and  I  shall  in- 
sist on  doing  so  at  the  first  opportunity." 

Theodora  raised  her  eyebrows  and  burst  out 
laughing.  "What  a  tone,  Cecil!  Why,  I 
have  no  objection  to  marriage!  On  the  con- 

123 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

trary,  I  think  it  is  an  excellent  institution ;  but 
in  our  particular  case  we  had  to  dispense  with 
it,  and  in  our  case  it  does  not  matter.  Of 
course,  your  housemaid  must  marry  her  young 
man  with  whom  she  walks  out  on  Sunday  or 
she  comes  to  grief,  we  all  know.  But  I  have 
no  fear  of  your  cruel  desertion  of  me,  nor  that 
I  shall  have  to  play  the  part  of  seducee!" 

*'No,  no,  my  dearest,  I  know.  But  you 
must  see  that  I  can't  bear  that  you  should  put 
yourself  in  a  false  position,  even  for  a  time, 
for  my  sake." 

Theodora  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Well,  I  could  hardly  come  to  your  rooms 
in  the  orange  flower  turn-out  and  say,  'Marry 
me.'  And  you  wouldn't  ask  me,  and  so — and 
so — hence  the  tears,  if  there  are  any;  but  I 
don't  see  that  it  matters  a  straw.  It  is  you 
who  are  fussing." 

I  leaned  forward  and  seized  her  two  dear 
little  hands. 

"You  must  know  why  I  did  not  ask  you. 
You  must  know  it  was  because  I  thought  I 
had  no  right — considering  all  you  had  to  give 
up,  and  that  I  had  nothing  to  offer — no  right 
to  make  you  my  wife." 

"As  it  is,  I  shall  be  your  mistress,  and  that 

124 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

will  be  worse !"  retorted  Theodora,  with  a  lovely 
and  tormenting  smile.  "I  warned  you  not  to 
attempt  the  impossible.  Mortal  things  are  fit- 
ting to  mortals.  How  could  you  hope  to  wall 
up  our  love  by  your  little  orthodoxies,  and 
considerations,  and  fears?  You  excited  a  tre- 
mendous— well,  what  shall  I  say  to  sound  well? 
— a  tremendous  emotion  in  me.  You  saw  that 
you  had  done  it,  and  then  you  suddenly  take 
it  into  your  head  that  it  will  be  inestimably 
for  my  benefit  for  you  to  go  away  without 
satisfying  it!  You  are  a  funny  mixture!" 

I  buried  my  head  in  my  hands. 

"Yes,  I  know.     I  am  an  execrable  wretch!" 

She  stroked  my  hair  backwards  and  for- 
wards. 

"It  is  all  very  nice  and  satisfactory  and  con- 
venient as  it  is,"  she  said,  laughing,  "and  you 
have  nothing  on  earth  to  worry  about.  When 
we  go  back  I'll  turn  out  in  regular  British 
matron  style,  and  you  shall  marry  me  two  or 
three  times  over  to  make  up,  if  you  like." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  laugh  with  her. 

"As  to  what  I  have  given  up,  you  know  the 
line  referring  to  tents  and  thrones.  I  have 
tried  the  thrones,  so  to  speak,  and  not  liked 
them—"* 

125 


"You  may  not  like  the  tents  any  better," 
I  interrupted,  jesting  too,  but  with  a  certain 
seriousness  I  could  not  shake  off. 

"The  tents !  no,  I  have  no  predilection  for  an 
empty  tent,  but  if  it  is  the  dwelling-place  of 
Cecil  Ray—" 

Her  eyes  finished  the  sentence  for  her. 

"Now,  Theodora,  if  you  are  going  to  talk 
like  that,  you  can't  expect  me  to  remain  on 
this  side  of  the  carriage!" 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  talk  like  it,  then. 
No,  really;  stay  where  you  are.  IWe  ar-e-not 
anywhere  near  Marseilles  yet!" 

Silence. 

Then  she  said,  a  shade  coming  over  her  face, 
"The  only  thing  I  am  sorry  about  is  leaving 
Hester.  It  was  a  tremendous  wrench.  I  left 
a  letter  for  her  explaining  everything,  so  she 
will  feel  no  anxiety  about  me,  and  I  suppose 
she  will  invent  some  graceful  lie  for  outsiders." 

Another  pause,  which  she  broke  by  asking, 
"How  long  are  we  going  to  stop  at  Mar- 
seilles?" 

"About  a  week,  I  suppose,"  I  answered. 
"To  enable  you  to  get  some  things,  and  so  on." 

Theodora  nodded. 

"And  then  where  do  we  go?" 

"Aden.     There  is  no  need,  you  see,  for  me 

126 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

to  hurry.  I  thought  we  might  go  through  the 
Red  Sea  and  Persian  Gulf  and  drop  down 
upon  Baghdad  that  way." 

"Very  good,"  returned  Theodora,  piling  up 
two  French  novels  for  a  pillow,  and  then 
stretching  herself  full-length  on  her  own  side 
of  the  carriage  without  the  least  embarrass- 
ment, looking  desperately  captivating  and 
graceful  as  she  did  so. 

"By  the  way—" 

"Well?" 

"You  won't  forget  and  call  me  Theodora 
by  mistake  before  people,  will  you?  It  is 
quite  easy  to  drop  the  a  and  put  an  e  instead. 
When  I  was  christened,  I  suppose  my  parents 
noticed  I  was  very  like  a  boy,  and  so  with 
admirable  forethought  gave  me  a  name  that 
would  do  for  either!" 

"No,  I  shall  not  forget." 

She  looked  at  me  and  exclaimed  suddenly, 
"Cecil,  you  look  dreadfully  pale!  what  is  the 
matter?" 

"Do  I?  Nothing,  dearest!  What  should 
there  be?" 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?" 

"Of  how  confoundedly  wide  these  carriages 
are  for  one  thing!" 

Theodora  laughed  and  changed  the  subject. 
127 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

At  Lyons,  as  we  slowed  down,  she  suggested 
that  I  should  get  out. 

"Go  to  the  bar  and  get  a  brandy-and-soda 
—at  any  rate,  the  fresh  air  on  the  platform. 
Do." 

"Will  you  come?" 

"No;  that's  no  use.  You  go;  I'll  wait  for 
you." 

I  laughed  and  declined,  and  remained  where 
I  was.  In  those  moments  I  was  as  absolutely 
chained  and  helpless,  bound  by  every  indomi- 
table instinct  to  remain  in  her  presence  and 
proximity,  even  though  denied  contact  with 
her,  as  if  a  thousand  rivets  and  bars  were  hold- 
ing me  on  either  side. 

We  paused  at  Lyons  only  about  ten  minutes, 
and  then  the  train  swung  on  through  the  dark- 
ness. 

At  last,  towards  midnight  we  came  into 
Marseilles.  Theodora,  who  had  been  talking 
and  laughing,  with  an  excited  gaiety  literally 
overflowing  her  sparkling  eyes,  abruptly  be- 
came silent  as  we  stopped.  Our  eyes  met  in- 
voluntarily, and  she  seemed  to  shrink  before 
the  glance  of  triumph  I  threw  over  her.  We 
neither  of  us  spoke.  I  got  out  and  handed  her 
to  the  platform.  It  so  happened  that  the  om- 
nibus to  take  us  to  the  hotel  filled  up  rapidly 

128 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

as  our  fellow-passengers,  all  men,  crowded  into 
it.  There  was  room  for  ten  inside,  and  as 
Theodora  and  I  were  taking  our  places  an 
eleventh  passenger  hurried  up.  He  was  a  cor- 
pulent Frenchman,  who  lamented  loudly  there 
was  no  place  for  him.  I  turned  to  him  in- 
stantly and  begged  him  to  come  in:  there  was 
quite  room  for  him,  as  I  and  my  friend  would 
take  only  one  seat.  Then  I  looked  at  Theo- 
dora, who  had  not  yet  taken  her  place.  She 
was  helpless,  as  the  omnibus  was  too  low- 
roofed  to  permit  any  one  to  stand,  and  I  took 
her  into  my  longing  arms  and  drew  her  down 
on  my  knees.  The  fat  Frenchman,  profuse 
in  thanks,  hurried  in;  the  door  slammed,  and 
the  omnibus  started.  We  were  almost  in 
darkness.  A  lamp  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
vehicle  sent  down  only  a  jolted  flicker  at  inter- 
vals. The  Frenchmen  gabbled  together  in- 
cessantly. Theodora  and  I  did  not  utter  one 
word.  I  was  simply  submerged  iq  my  own 
feelings,  and  incapable  of  speech;  and  she — 
I  don't  know  what  passed  in  her  brain,  but  her 
breath  seemed  stifled  and  suffocated  as  she 
drew  it.  I  felt  her  heart  beating  frantically, 
like  a  trapped  bird's,  as  I  pressed  her  against 
my  breast,  and  the  slight  waist  heaved  con- 
vulsively under  my  arm.  Once  the  wheel  of  the 

129 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

omnibus  was  caught,  and  it  swayed  violently. 
The  word  "Collision"  went  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  and  I  felt  myself  turn  pale.  An  ac- 
cident to-night!  The  thought  could  turn  me 
into  a  coward;  to-morrow,  if  the  world  split 
into  its  billion  atoms,  I  felt  I  should  not  care, 
had  I  once  finally  and  utterly  made  her  my; 
own. 

We  did  reach  the  hotel  at  last,  while  I  was 
questioning  madly  whether  we  ever  should, 
and  went  with  the  other  passengers  to  the  cof- 
fee-room. I  had  never  seen  Theodora  look 
lovelier  from  a  purely  physical  point  of  view 
than  she  did  as  we  took  our  seats  at  the  table 
— more  appealing  and  more  seductive.  The 
mental,  intellectual  charm  was  less  perhaps,  or 
possibly  I  myself  was  unable  just  then,  in  the 
tumultuous  pleasure  of  the  senses,  to  be  con- 
scious of  it.  The  heat  of  the  room,  after  the 
outside  cold,  had  warmed  the  blood ;  the  bright- 
est scarlet  ran  through  the  smooth,  smiling  lips 
and  glowed  faintly  beneath  the  pale  skin  of 
the  cheeks;  the  long  Egyptian-cut  eyes  were 
wide  and  dark  and  nervously  expanded,  scin- 
tillating like  two  mirrors  beneath  which  a 
lamp  is  held,  and  the  gaslight,  coming  down  in 
a  flood  upon  her  head,  tinged  the  short,  loose 
waves  of  black  hair  with  gold.  I  saw  the 

ISO 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

waiter  eyeing  her  with  great  interest  from 
time  to  time  as  he  laid  our  table,  and  at  last 
he  could  restrain  his  gossiping,  curious  nature 
no  longer,  and  said  inquiringly,  "Monsieur, 
c'est  un  Italien  comme  moi?"  It  was  thun- 
dering cheek  on  his  part,  and  I  felt  inclined 
to  get  up  and  leave  the  table;  but  the  false- 
ness of  our  position  and  the  effeminate  look 
that  the  painted  eyes  lent  the  face  opposite  me 
checked  me,  and  Theodora  herself  laughed  and 
answered  the  man  in  his  own  tongue.  I  don't 
know  Italian,  so  I  could  not  follow  what  she 
said  to  him,  but  I  supposed  it  was  some  chaff, 
for  she  sent  him  away  highly  delighted  and 
shaking  with  laughter.  A  minute  after  he  was 
back  again  with  a  tray  of  his  best  cigars  and 
cigarettes  and  his  most  finely  polished  glasses. 
When  he  had  disappeared  I  said: 

"You  had  better  discontinue  putting  that 
stuff  on  your  eyes.  It  did  not  matter  when 
you  were  in  your  own  character,  but  it  excites 
notice  now." 

I  was  half  afraid  she  would  be  offended,  as 
nine  out  of  ten  other  women  would  have  been 
at  a  similar  speech,  and  that  was  why  I  had  not 
spoken  about  it  before.  But  Theodora  only 
gave  her  usual  careless  laugh,  and  said : 

"Oh,  very  well,  if  you  don't  like  it;  but  you 

181 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

won't  find  my  eyes  look  half  the  size  they  do 
now  without  it." 

"I  don't  object  to  it  in  the  least,"  I  said, 
pouring  out  the  wine  into  her  glass.  "I  only 
say,  just  now  it  is  unwise.  You  can  paint 
them  as  much  as  you  like  in  Egypt.  There 
the  men  and  boys  do  it,  and  the  women  don't, 
so  there  you  will  be  in  the  fashion  again — the 
one  thing  that  I  think  we  agreed  was  neces- 
sary." 

Theodora  nodded  and  laughed. 

"Now,  do  try  to  eat  and  drink  something," 
I  urged  anxiously  as  the  dinner  was  set  upon 
the  table. 

The  delicate  colour  came  and  went  a  little 
too  readily  in  the  cheek  to  please  me,  and  the 
white  hand  trembled  so  that  she  could  hardly 
raise  her  glass.  As  I  was  filling  it  for  her  the 
third  or  fourth  time  towards  the  close  of  din- 
ner she  pushed  it  from  her. 

"Don't,  Cecil,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  "press 
me  to  take  it,  really." 

"Why  not?"  I  said  chaffingly.  "I  thought 
Bacchus  was  your  favourite  deity." 

"I  never  said  that." 

"Well,  perhaps  it's  Eros  then.  Never  mind, 
the  two  are  very  similar.  Come,  do  have 


some  more." 


132 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"No;  it  will  only  make  me  more  excited,  and 
if  you  could  know  what  I  feel  already— 

".What  is  it,  my  dearest?"  I  asked,  suddenly 
growing  grave  and  concerned,  for  she  had  put 
one  hand  to  her  left  side  and  her  face  had 
grown  paler  than  the  marble  table  before  us. 

"Nothing — oh,  nothing  but  the  excitement 
— and  all  that." 

The  room  had  a  good  many  people  in  it, 
though  not  in  our  immediate  vicinity,  and  our 
table  stood  partially  behind  a  screen.  Still, 
though  what  we  said  could  not  be  heard,  our 
actions  could  be  seen  from  the  other  end  of 
the  room,  so  that  any  demonstration  of  feeling 
was  impossible.  I  could  merely  stretch  out 
my  hand  and  close  it  over  hers  that  lay  cold 
and  lax  and  quivering  on  the  table. 

"Are  you  sorry  to  have  entered  upon  this?" 
I  said  gently.  "Are  you  afraid,  after  all,  to 
trust  yourself  to  me?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  in  the  least  sorry,  nor  in  the 
least  afraid,"  she  answered  with  a  sharp  ac- 
cent of  intensity.  "Only  it  is  so  difficult  to 
make  a  man  understand — "  The  carmine 
flowed  back  to  her  cheeks  again  now,  and  she 
leaned  her  head  upon  her  other  hand,  so  as  to 
shut  the  face  from  my  eyes.  I  said  nothing. 
I  kept  my  own  firm,  warm  fingers  closed  over 

133 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

hers,  and  sat  in  silence.     I  was  distressed  and 
anxious  and  nervous  for  her  health. 

We  had  been  travelling  now  for  thirty  hours, 
and  she  had  had  no  sleep  for  that  time  and 
very  little  food,  and  a  constant,  ever-present 
excitement — an  excitement,  too,  that  dated 
farther  back  than  thirty  hours  with  me.  For 
what  must  her  last  night  have  been  before  she 
came  to  me  ? — sleepless,  at  the  least,  as  she  had 
confessed  to  me.  Then  there  had  been  the 
strain  of  getting  away  unobserved,  and  the 
excitement  and  responsibility  thrown  upon  her 
by  the  new  part  she  had  to  play.  The  mental 
and  physical  strain  and  stimulus  had  been 
great  for  a  system  so  unusually  easily  excited 
to  an  abnormally  high  degre.  I  am  a  most 
utter  egoist  as  a  rule — I  know  it  quite  well — 
but  I  do  not  think  any  thought  of  self  ap- 
proached me  then.  I  loved  Theodora  intensely 
in  those  moments,  but  the  helpless  weakness  of 
physical  nature  appealed  to  me  with  tremen- 
dous force  and  kept  the  more  selfish  and  the 
fiercer  feelings  in  check.  A  tenderness  to- 
wards herself  was  stirred  suddenly  by  her 
visible,  physical  illness.  A  realisation  came 
upon  me  of  the  fragility  and  uncertainty  of 
these  human  lives,  that  when  they  are  dear  to 
us,  we  so  lightly  and  so  vainly  call  our  own, 

134, 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

and  these  two  feelings  helped  to  crush  down 
the  rage  of  my  own  personal  passion  and  de- 
sire for  her.  I  was  willing  in  those  moments 
to  inflict  any  self-denial  on  myself.  I  was 
willing  to  repress  and  restrain  myself  to  any 
extent  for  her  sake,  but  I  knew  that  this  was 
the  one  sacrifice  that  a  woman  never  forgives 
a  man  for  making  for  her.  I  debated 
anxiously  with  myself  as  to  what  my  duty  to- 
wards her  was,  as  to  how  I  should,  could, 
ought,  must  act  within  the  next  few  minutes. 
The  people  were  leaving  the  room,  the  waiters 
were  clearing  the  tables  and  turning  down  su- 
perfluous gas-jets.  I  had  not  long  to  decide. 
It  would  have  been  an  immense  trial  to  me,  an 
inexpressible  effort,  beyond  all  words,  just 
then  to  have  said  to  her,  "You  are  over-tired. 
Go  and  sleep,  and  forget  me  till  to-morrow;" 
but  I  would  have  forced  myself  to  say  it — if 
I  could  have  made  clear  at  the  same  time  at 
what  a  cost  to  me  it  had  been  said.  But  that 
was  just  what  I  could  not  do.  If  I  opened 
my  lips  to  say  the  words,  so  harsh  and  difficult 
for  me,  Theodora,  like  a  woman,  would  per- 
haps only  go  from  me  to  a  sleepless  night  full 
of  tears  and  distress,  tortured  by  some  idea 
that  I  did  not  want  her,  by  bitterly  wounded 
pride  and  shame  that  she  had  forced  herself 

135 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

on  an  unwilling  lover.  Peculiarly  between 
us  the  matter  was  delicate  to  touch,  because 
Theodora  had  come  to  me  so  voluntarily.  My 
passion  she  had  rather  divined  than  I  expressed 
it.  Action  for  the  sake  of  our  love  had 
hitherto,  owing  to  our  relative  positions,  been 
on  her  side  rather  than  on  mine.  That  we 
were  here  together  now  was  the  result  of  her 
action,  not  mine.  Had  I  not  already  argued 
against  her  when  she  first  came  to  me?  And 
how  could  she  know,  be  convinced,  that  I  was 
in  real  and  painful  earnest,  only  speaking  and 
pleading  for  her  and  against  myself?  What 
if  I  still  held  myself  from  her?  What  would 
her  feelings  be?  No  man,  I  think,  with  a 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  experience  of 
women  could  fail  to  know  the  answer.  It 
seemed  to  me  now  that,  as  it  had  been  before, 
a  certain  amount  of  wrong  towards  her  was 
forced  upon  me — an  injury,  slight  or  great, 
you  may  call  it,  according  to  your  sensitive- 
ness. Either  now,  when  I  saw  she  was  un- 
strung and  exhausted  to  the  last  degree,  I 
must  force  fresh  excitement  on  her,  or  I  must 
inflict  the  mental  pain  of  what  might  seem  in 
our  particular  circumstances  an  insult.  I  felt 
I  could  not  risk  the  last.  I  pressed  the  inert 
hand  a  little  harder,  and  she  suddenly  let  the 

136 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

other  fall  from  her  eyes  and  looked  across  at 
me.  In  those  soft,  uncertain,  swimming  eyes 
that  sought  mine,  where  the  dark,  tremulous 
pupil  kept  widening  and  dilating,  there  was  a 
seductive  appeal,  an  irresistible  abandonment 
of  self,  a  delicious  invitation. 

If  my  decision  had  been  to  resist,  would  it 
have  stood  now?  As  it  was,  there  was  no 
question:  that  seducing  softness  had  been 
thrown,  half  unconsciously  perhaps,  but  half 
consciously,  into  the  youthful  eyes.  I  looked 
into  them  with  a  slight  smile,  and  said,  rising 
as  the  waiter  came  up  to  clear  the  table  and 
extinguish  the  gas,  "Come." 


CHAPTER  V 

FIVE  days  had  elapsed,  and  I  was  standing, 
looking  absently  through  the  coffee-room  win- 
dow towards  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  and 
thinking.  I  had  left  Theodora  upstairs,  ly- 
ing full-length  asleep  upon  the  hearthrug  be- 
fore the  fire.  I  had  been  already  standing 
there  some  time  considering  these  past  five 
days,  and  trying  vaguely  to  classify  our  tie, 
our  life,  and  Theodora's  position  and  title.  I 
had  never  been  in  a  more  strange  relationship 
with  any  human  being  before.  Theodora 
was  not  my  wife.  In  many  senses  she  was 
not  my  mistress,  a  term  which  always  carries 
a  shade  of  disrespect  with  it.  -  To  her  I  might 
give,  with  the  greater  justice,  the  tenderest 
name  to  me  in  the  language,  that  of  com- 
panion— a  title  so  lightly  used,  but  in  its  full- 
est sense  so  difficult  to  give  and  so  rarely 
justified. 

Theodora  was  now  in  every  hour  of  my  life, 
in  every  emotion,  in  my  actions,  and  in  my 
thoughts,  my  companion,  my  associate,  my 

138 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

comrade;  and,  as  each  of  these,  bound  to  me 
closer  than  any  by  the  claims  of  the  senses. 
Our  relations  were  peculiar  and  heterodox,  and 
my  feelings  towards  her  were  inexplicably  con- 
fused and  contradictory,  corresponding  neither 
to  those  for  the  orthodox  wife  nor  yet  to  the 
irregular  position  she  was  in.  The  relation, 
in  so  far  as  it  was  not  marriage,  was  a  deroga- 
tory one,  or  rather  one  which  habitually  be- 
comes so,  and  in  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
see  women  who  are  our  inferiors;  but  Theo- 
dora was  in  a  hundred  ways,  certainly  in  in- 
tellect and  learning,  mentally  and  psychologic- 
ally, my  superior.  And  for  this  reason  it  was 
impossible  not  to  feel  a  constant,  natural,  spon- 
taneous respect  for  her.  But  yet  wide  as  the 
difference  between  wine  and  milk  was  the  dif- 
ference between  the  feelings  with  which  I 
kissed  her  and  those  which  men  feel  generally 
for  virtuous  women  in  the  rank  from  which 
they  take  their  wives. 

For  Theodora  I  was  forced  to  feel  respect. 
I  could  not  do  otherwise  than  look  upon  her 
as  my  equal  or  superior;  but  that  reverence 
which  simplicity  and  innocence  enjoins,  that 
checking,  restraining  constraint  before  igno- 
rance was  entirely  absent.  In  some  men  the 
constraint  inflames  their  passion,  in  others 

139 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

chills  it.  For  myself,  excessive  frigidity  and 
purity  in  a  woman  would  always  tempt  me, 
not  to  seek  her,  but  to  pass  her  by.  If  she 
is  pure,  let  her  remain  so.  If  I  am  to  love 
my  companion,  that  companion  must  be  my 
equal.  If  a  woman  considered  herself  to 
stand  upon  a  higher  moral  platform  than  my- 
self, it  would  be  wearisome  and  vexing  for 
me  to  be  strung  up  to  it;  at  the  same  time  it 
would  be  a  distress,  and  not  a  satisfaction,  to 
drag  her  down  to  mine.  With  Theodora  there 
was  no  constraint,  no  rein  upon  me ;  not  a  bar 
nor  a  shadow  between  us.  With  her,  looks, 
words,  and  actions  were  all  free,  unchecked, 
spontaneous.  I  never  tried,  or  felt  bound  to 
try,  to  be  better  or  different  from  what  I  was 
naturally.  From  the  beginning  I  took  Theo- 
dora without  shame  into  my  heart  and  brain 
and  thoughts,  without  their  having  been 
cleaned  and  brushed  up  first  for  her  recep- 
tion. So  that  afterwards  I  felt  no  fear  that 
she  might  stumble  some  day  on  an  unexpected 
rubbish-heap  concealed  in  any  corner.  And 
Theodora  came  into  my  innermost  life  and  ad- 
mitted me  into  hers,  equally  without  restraint. 
In  the  first  days  of  our  intimacy,  the  mental 
intimacy  that  between  us  immediately  followed 
the  physical,  I  was  conscious  of  a  certain  shock, 

140 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

the  shock  of  surprise,  as  she  was  so  different 
from  the  average  woman.  It  had  passed,  but  it 
had  been  the  birth  of  a  fiercer,  deeper  passion. 
Nothing  could  exceed  her  cynicism.  Nothing 
that  I  could  bring  forward  for  her  condemna- 
tion, or  say  to  excite  her  indignation  from  a 
moral  point  of  view,  did  more  than  bring  a 
curl  to  her  flexible  lip  and  a  mocking  smile 
into  her  eyes.  Of  every  passion  and  emotion, 
of  every  desire  and  sensation  that  convulses 
the  human  brain,  she  seemed  to  have  a 
theoretical  knowledge,  and  a  tolerance  and  an 
understanding  for  them  all.  She  was  ig- 
norant of  nothing  theoretically,  though  she 
had  had  no  experience  of  anything  practically. 
And  this  mixture  of  innocence  with  knowledge, 
of  physical  purity  with  mental  licence, 
fascinated  me. 

Theodora  stirred  me  as  a  narrow-minded 
woman  could  not  have  done.  We  met  on 
equal,  easy,  broad,  pleasant  grounds,  where 
the  companionship  and  comradeship  and 
friendship  of  a  man  to  a  man  joined  and  met 
with  and  merged  easily  into  passionate  desire 
and  the  pleasures  of  sense ;  and  I  felt — I  don't 
say  other  men  would  feel — but  I  felt  an  in- 
finitely stronger,  more  violent  passion  grow 
in  me  for  this  associate,  this  fellow-being, 

141 


this  co-thinker,  and  constant  companion  than 
I  could  possibly  have  done  for  any  womanly 
wife. 

Five  days  we  had  been  here.  And  in  those 
five  days  we  had  driven  together  and  walked 
together,  visited  the  brasseries  together, 
smoked  together,  drunk  together,  played  bil- 
liards together,  and  talked  together.  I  pos- 
sessed now  a  great  friendship  and  a  great  pas- 
sion— two  things  that  come  often  at  the  same 
time  in  a  life,  but  often,  too,  only  the  one  to 
spoil  the  other.  But  here  both  were  for  the 
same  object,  and  ran  side  by  side,  and  yielded 
easily  and  smoothly,  alternately  the  one  to  the 
other,  unconsciously  as  our  inclination  led  them. 
When  the  friendship  failed  to  satisfy,  the 
passion  rushed  through  it  flaming  and  inflam- 
ing; when  the  passion  satiated,  the  friendship 
rested  and  soothed.  It  was  a  quaint,  double 
position,  with  all  sorts  of  various,  varying  feel- 
ings playing  through  it. 

The  fact  that  our  real  relations  were  known 
and  suspected  by  none  of  the  people  that  we 
came  in  contact  with  added  another  element 
of  peculiarity,  and  had  a  certain  irritating, 
stimulating  charm.  If  there  was  no  restraint, 
and  the  utmost  freedom  between  us,  ourselves, 
in  reality  and  when  alone,  so  there  was  an  ex- 

142 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

cessive  and  continuous  restraint  upon  us  both 
in  public.  An  easy  familiarity  was  of  course 
permissible  to  our  position  as  friends;  but  I 
had  to  keep  a  constant  watch  upon  my  words, 
looks  and  actions,  and  be  careful  that  they 
did  not  go  beyond  the  elastic  limits  of  friend- 
ship and  excite  comment  and  wonder.  I  did 
not  grudge  the  trouble  it  gave  me.  I  would 
not  have  had  it  otherwise,  now  I  had  once  ex- 
perienced the  tremendous  stimulus  this  re- 
straint in  public  gave  to  our  moments  in 
private. 

Five  days.  Had  I  been  married  to  Theo- 
dora in  the  orthodox  way  for  those  five  days, 
and  had  the  right  and  opportunity  of  calling 
her  "darling"  every  minute  of  them,  probably 
my  inclination  to  do  so  would  have  ceased  by 
now,  and  a  kiss  between  us  have  become  as 
mechanical  an  action  as  putting  sugar  in  one's 
tea.  But  since  I  could  by  no  possibility  ad- 
dress Theodora  as  "darling"  except  when  ab- 
solutely alone  with  her  and  certain  of  no  over- 
hearer,  it  was  still  a  coveted  liberty;  while  a 
legitimate  kiss  became  a  crime  to  be  committed 
silently  and  secretly,  with  care  lest  we  should 
be  discovered,  and  as  such  retained  its  fascina- 
tion. Even  when  the  key  was  turned  in  the 
door  of  our  room  I  used  to  be  afraid  lest  Theo- 

143 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

dora's  high  falsetto  voice  should  carry  com- 
promising words  through  the  thin  partitions 
on  either  side,  and  half  of  the  delicious,  inti- 
mate conversations  we  had  had,  had  been  car- 
ried on  in  whispers,  broken  by  half -stifled 
laughter. 

The  clock  behind  me  struck  five,  and  I 
turned  to  go  upstairs.  She  must  have  had  a 
gobd  long  sleep  by  this  time.  When  I  entered 
the  room  she  was  still  lying  on  the  rug,  and  the 
fire  had  burned  into  a  hollow  cavern.  I  bent 
over  her.  She  was  fast  asleep,  and  I  lifted 
her  up  wholly  into  my  arms  without  trouble. 

Theodora  was  tall,  certainly,  but  without 

J  7 

any  great  weight  of  flesh  upon  her.  One 
could  not  say  she  was  thin,  for  all  her  bones 
were  so  small  and  so  hidden  away  in  the  smooth 
limbs  that  it  was  impossible  to  find  one,  and 
every  joint  and  knuckle  was  only  suggested 
by  a  dimple.  But  round  and  soft  as  an  opos- 
sum as  she  was  in  this  way,  she  was  still  light 
and  slight,  made  more  like  a  very  young  girl 
than  a  woman,  without  any  ponderous  develop- 
ments, and  I  could  lift  her  up  easily  like  a 
sleeping  kitten.  She  stirred  then,  of  course, 
as  I  touched  her,  the  heavy  white  lids 
quivered  and  opened,  the  lips  curved  into 
a  slow  smile,  and  consciousness  broke  over 

144 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

the  face,  like  the  sun  rising  over  a  landscape. 

"Do  you  know  you  have  been  asleep  three 
hours?"  I  said,  laughing.  "I  want  you  to 
wake  up  now.  We  can  have  a  cup  of  tea  if 
you  like,  and  then  we'll  go  out." 

"Have  I  really?  three  hours — what  a  time!" 
said  Theodora,  with  a  suppressed  yawn  and  a 
smile  in  her  eyes.  "And  what  have  you  been 
doing?" 

"T  2  Oh,  I've  been  thinking,"  I  said,  throw- 
ing myself  into  the  corner  of  the  couch. 

"Thinking!  Great  Scott!  You  don't  say 
so!  What  an  unusual  occupation  for  a  man! 
I  never  met  a  man  who  thought  yet !" 

"Oh,  well,  I  do  a  lot  of  it,  on  and  off,"  I 
said. 

"Yes,  I  really  think  you  do,  and  that's  why 
I  liked  you  so  very  much  from  the  first.  You 
are  not  a  mere  physical  machine." 

"Thanks,"  I  said,  laughing,  and  looking  up 
at  her  as  she  stood  in  front  of  me.  "You  are 
very  complimentary!" 

"No,  but  really,  Cecil,  most  men,  young 
men,  are  such  fools ;  either  they  have  no  brains 
or  they  will  not  use  them,"  she  answered,  laugh- 
ing too,  and  then  added,  "but  what  have  you 
been  thinking  of?" 

"Oh,  lots  of  things,"  I  said,  looking  into  her 

145 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

eyes.  ''What  does  it  matter?  Come  along 
downstairs." 

We  had  tea  in  the  empty  coffee-room  and 
then  went  out.  The  weather  had  changed, 
from  cold  to  wet.  It  was  mild  and  muggy, 
and  the  streets  inches  thick  in  mud.  Theodora 
took  my  arm,  and  we  kept  step  together  over 
the  dirty  pavements.  There  was  no  ungainly 
twisting  of  her  figure  to  hold  up  mud-stained 
skirts,  no  fussing  about  possible  damage  to 
petticoats,  no  dangling  strips  of  torn  braid  or 
what  not,  that  women  are  so  fond  of,  to  come 
flicking  across  the  well-polished  boots  and  dis- 
figure the  neat  little  feet  that  kept  pace  with 
mine.  It  was  a  charming  young  fellow  that 
I  had  beside  me,  with  the  eyes  of  a  woman. 
After  a  time  we  turned  into  a  street  that  boasts 
the  best  of  the  semi-theatres,  and  we  stopped 
before  the  doors  of  the  building  to  read  the 
boards.  Everywhere  was  placarded  the  title 
of  the  first  sketch — La  Joie  Supreme. 

"Hullo,"  I  said,  "we  may  as  well  look  in 
and  see  this,  shall  we?  I  daresay  it  will  be 
amusing." 

"What  do  they  consider  La  Joie  Supreme,  I 
wonder?"  murmured  Theodora.  "Very  well, 
then,  let's  see.  But  Cecil,  I  think  our  own 

146 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

opinion  is  pretty  well  fixed  on  the  point  for 
the  present,  isn't  it?"  with  an  arch  and  liquid 
smile. 

I  returned  the  smile  and  raised  my  shoulders. 

"We  can  always  take  notes  for  the  future," 
I  said,  and  we  went  through  with  the  little 
mob  to  get  the  tickets. 

I  had  not  the  faintest  idea  of  what  we  were 
to  see.  If  I  had  had,  I  would  rather  have 
walked  over  the  docks'  edge  with  her  than 
taken  Theodora  through  the  turnstile.  I 
thought  it  was  some  variation  upon  the  fa- 
vourite pleasures  of  the  French,  and  I  knew 
Theodora  had  no  ignorance  and  no  illusions 
to  be  considered  and  bothered  about.  So  we 
went  in  and  took  our  seats  in  all  innocence. 
My  surprise  and  annoyance  were  intense 
when  the  scene  rose  upon  a  picture  of  domestic 
family  life,  and  La  Joie  Supreme  was  pro- 
claimed over  and  over  again  to  be  La 
Maternite.  It  was  the  representation  of  a 
woman  who,  having  found  dissatisfaction  in 
many  walks  of  life,  at  last  settles  down  to  a 
humble  hearth,  and  as  she  rocks  a  baby  in  her 
arms  tells  the  audience,  amid  thunders  of  de- 
lighted acclamations,  that  she  has  found  no 
joy  in  life  until  now,  in  the  kiss  of  her  child 

147 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

and  the  role  and  duties  of  a  mother !  The  very 
last  play  on  the  face  of  the  earth  that  I  would 
have  brought  my  companion  to. 

Theodora's  disguise,  the  sacrifice  she  had 
made  for  me,  our  life  upon  its  present  lines 
precluded  all  possibility  of  maternity  for  her, 
and  the  last  thing  I  wished  to  do  was  to  turn 
her  thoughts  and  stir  possible,  slumbering  in- 
stincts in  that  direction.  I  had  not  the  re- 
motest conception  of  what  her  feelings  were 
actually,  because  I  had  dreaded  and  avoided 
the  subject.  She  had  laid  down  her  rights 
to  the  ordinary  life  of  a  woman.  She  was  ap- 
parently happy,  and  I  would  not  for  worlds 
have  brought  to  her  mind  anything  she  might 
have  lost  by  doing  so.  And  now  I  had  brought 
her  to  hear  lauded,  as  the  only  virtue  under 
heaven,  the  only  sanctification  of  love,  the  one 
pure  and  lasting  joy — Maternity! 

The  French  were  enthusiastic;  a  really  do- 
mestic nation  at  heart,  and  devoted  to  their 
children,  the  play  pleased  them  enormously. 
The  maudlin  sentimentality  and  the  high-flown 
panegyrics  upon  wifely  and  motherly  love 
were  received  with  unstinted  clapping. 

I  sat  silent,  the  blood  hot  in  my  face  from 
annoyance,  and  not  caring  to  look  at  my  com- 

148 


A  MAX'S  LIFE 

panion.  She  sat  silent  and  motionless  too,  ab- 
sorbed in,  and  attentive  to,  this  disgusting 
play.  What  was  she  thinking?  I  wondered. 
Something  of  the  old-fashioned  idea  that  I 
think  most  men  have,  that  women  are  fond  of 
children  and  do  covet  their  possession,  and 
the  thought  that  Theodora  wras  bitterly  en- 
vying this  happy  heroine  before  her,  clung  to 
me  like  a  wet  blanket.  At  last,  when,  after 
three  years  are  supposed  to  have  elapsed  and 
in  the  finale,  this  blest  mother  advanced  to  the 
footlights  dragging  in  one  hand  a  little  tod- 
dle in  its  nightgown,  saying,  'Voila  1'auteur  de 
mon  ame  comme  moi  je  suis  1'auteur  de  son 
etre,'  the  house  positively  roared  its  pleasure, 
and  in  the  racket  I  ventured  to  look  at  Theo- 
dora. My  heart  sank.  As  I  thought:  the 
splendid,  smooth  forehead  was  contracted  and 
clouded.  The  high,  narrow  arch  of  the  eye- 
brow was  depressed  with  anger  and  discontent. 
She  looked  just  as  I  had  dreaded  to  see  her 
looking,  half  resentful  and  half  distressed. 
With  the  old-fashioned  ideas  crowding  to  my 
mind,  and  feeling  awfully  and  genuinely 
sorry  for  her,  I  leaned  towards  her  and  said: 
"Theodora,  I  swear  I  had  no  notion— 
"Oh,  Cecil,"  she  said,  impulsively  turning  to 

149 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

me,  "isn't  it  maddening?  I  don't  understand 
this  French  half  as  well  as  I  did  that  at  the 
Concert  des  Ambassadeurs !" 

For  the  minute  I  stared  at  her  to  see  if  she 
was  genuine.  No  doubt  of  it.  Then  I  flung 
myself  back  in  my  seat  and  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. So  she  was  only  concerned  about  her 
knowledge!  I  had  forgotten  her  intensely  in- 
tellectual habit  of  mind. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  she  said, 
smiling,  "I  think  it  is  very  vexing." 

"Oh,  nothing,"  I  said,  while  the  French 
were  still  clapping,  and  the  mother  and  the 
nightgowned  infant  still  bowing  their  ac- 
knowledgments. "I  say,  Theo,  what  do  you 
think  of  all  this?" 

"Oh,  well,  of  course  to  me  it  all  seems  very 
idiotic,"  she  said  carelessly. 

"Why  to  you?    Don't  you  like  children?" 

"Like  children!"  returned  Theodora  in 
amaze,  with  her  eyebrows  lifted  to  her  hair. 
"Why,  Cecil — !  No,  I  dislike  them  extremely. 
They  bore  me  unutterably.  I  should  detest 
the  man  who  made  me  a  mother!" 

I  was  silent.  It  was  an  intense  relief  to  me ; 
and  there  was  no  doubt  she  was  speaking  nat- 
urally, and  the  truth.  A  sigh  of  gratitude 
escaped  from  my  guilty  breast,  and  I  looked 

150 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

at  the  small,  spirited  head  beside  me,  and 
thought  according  to  the  new  canon,  what  does 
anything  matter?  I  must  get  rid  of  all  my 
old-fashioned  ideas  of  women,  that  was  very 
clear.  I  thought  I  had.  Here  five  days  with 
Theodora,  and  some  still!  A  minute  later  a 
soft,  caressing  hand,  sinuous,  ingratiating,  ir- 
resistible, came  over  the  intervening  fateuil 
arm  and  touched  mine. 

"Cecil,"  she  said  in  an  undertone,  as  the 
noise  was  subsiding. 

"What,  dear?"  I  murmured  back,  ready  to 
laugh  again. 

"Are  you  angry  with  me  for  what  I  said 
just  this  minute?" 

"My  sweet!  No.  Why  should  I  be?"  I 
answered. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Men  are  so  priggish 
generally.  They  think  if  a  woman  does  not 
rave  about  children  she  must  be  all  that's 
vile." 

"I  am  not  one  of  those  men  then,"  I  said, 
"and,  under  the  circumstances,  your  tastes  are 
extremely  convenient." 

"No,  but  Cecil,  without  satire — " 

Theodora's  face  looked  genuinely  distressed 
now.  She  looked  at  me,  the  tremulous,  beauti- 
ful pupil,  with  its  half-unfolding,  half-shrink- 

151 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

ing  darkness,  eclipsing  almost  the  glittering, 
flashing  iris. 

"No,  you  little  goose!"  I  murmured,  laugh- 
ing. "Surely  you  must  know  me  by  this  time 
well  enough  for  that !  I  don't  care  a  hang  for 
children,  and  I  certainly  don't  wish  you  to! 
It's  a  rotten  play;  let's  go." 

After  this  bad  shot  I  thought  I  owed  Theo- 
dora some  compensation,  and  when  we  got  out- 
side I  made  for  the  Cafe  Bourret,  one  of  the 
best  and  brightest  in  the  port. 

"We  want  something  to  string  our  nerves 
up,  after  all  that  fearful  twaddle,"  I  said. 
"We'll  dine  here,  and  then  have  a  game  of  bil- 
liards, shall  we,  after?  They  have  a  very  de- 
cent billiard-room  downstairs." 

Theodora  and  I  were  both  passionately  fond 
of  billiards,  and  we  had  already  played  against 
each  other  two  evenings  out  of  the  five.  I  was 
a  fairly  decent  player,  Theodora  a  downright 
good  one — as  good  a  one  as  I  have  met 
amongst  amateurs,  and  it  piqued  and  amused 
me  to  play  with  her.  Either  way,  whether  I 
won  or  lost,  I  was  equally  pleased.  If  I  won, 
I  had  the  satisfaction  of  beating  a  better 
player  than  myself;  if  I  lost,  Theodora  was 
my  property,  a  part  of  myself,  and  it  was 

152 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

gratifying  to  me  to  see  the  men  who  had 
watched  our  game  press  round  her  and  praise 
her  strokes,  as  she  stood  leaning  her  flushed 
cheek  on  the  end  of  her  cue.  She  assented 
to  both  my  propositions,  and  we  went  into  the 
cafe.  There  was  a  blaze  of  light,  both  gas 
and  electric,  a  crowd  of  diners,  and  a  con- 
tinuous chatter  going  on  all  round  that 
drowned  the  minor  clatter  of  plates  and 
knives.  It  was  but  the  first  piece  that  we  had 
seen  at  the  theatre,  so  that  the  hour  for  late 
diners  had  not  gone  by.  All  early  ones,  how- 
ever, had  disappeared,  and  we  found  a  table 
without  difficulty.  Theodora's  brilliant  face 
attracted  some  admiring  glances  from  the 
men  as  well  as  the  women.  Male  good  looks 
are  rather  at  a  discount  in  England,  but  as 
one  moves  southward  and  eastward  their  value 
mounts  perceptibly.  Theodora  returned  the 
men's  glances  with  amusement,  and  I  felt  a 
certain  jealous  annoyance.  At  last,  when  the 
waiter  had  spoken  twice  to  her  without  being 
able  to  get  an  answer,  I  said  sharply: 

"Can't  you  give  your  attention  to  the  menu 
for  a  second,  Theodore?"  Theodora  looked 
at  me  in  surprise,  laughed,  and  then  gave  her 
orders  to  the  waiter.  Then  she  said: 

153 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"Now,  Cecil,  what  are  you  cross  about?" 

"I  am  not  cross.  But  why  look  back  at 
these  people  as  you  do?" 

"My  glances  are  my  own,  and  I  shall  do 
what  I  like  with  them.  I  hope  you  are  not  of 
a  jealous  disposition;  it  really  gives  too  much 
trouble." 

"You  would  not  like  it  if  I  were  indiffer- 
ent!" I  said,  colouring  with  annoyance  at  her 
irritating,  languid,  contemptuous  tones. 

"No,  of  course  not;  but  that  is  an  absurd, 
sophistical  reply.  There  are  so  many  thou- 
sand ways  in  which  a  man  can  show  his  passion 
without  making  it  the  excuse  for  the  tyranny 
of  his  own  confounded  jealousy." 

Her  face  was  so  handsome  at  that  moment, 
her  voice  so  soft  and  caressing  even  over  the 
last  two  words,  such  a  warm  light  lay  in  the 
smiling  eyes,  that  it  neutralised  the  harshness 
they  have  upon  paper. 

"It  is  no  use  your  being  jealous  of  me,"  she 
continued  lightly;  "so  don't  begin  it.  Don't 
try  it  on,  as  the  Americans  say.  It  will  only 
worry  me  to  death  and  not  change  me.  I  am 
not  a  little  Hindu  wife  of  eleven  years  old.  I 
have  been  free,  perfectly  my  own  mistress  ever 
since  I  can  remember,  and  at  close  upon  four- 
and-twenty  one  is  too  old  to  make  over  one's 

154 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

will  to  another  person.  I  am  your  friend  and 
companion  and  equal,  and  you  must  treat  me 
as  such ;  but  you  have  half  a  knack  of  speaking 
as  if  I  were  one  of  your  Kashmeri  women, 
bought  at  a  few  hundred  rupees." 

I  grew  scarlet  as  she  spoke. 

"Theodore,  what  are  you  talking  about?"  I 
said. 

"No,  Cecil,  I  daresay  you  are  not  conscious 
of  it  yourself,"  she  went  on  very  softly  and 
gently,  more  as  if  she  were  persuading  me  to 
give  her  something  than  finding  fault  with 
me.  "But,  like  all  men,  in  these  relations  you 
are  confoundedly  dictatorial  at  times,  and  I 
don't  like  it.  Besides,  you  have  every  possible 
thing  from  me  you  want,  and  it's  hard  that  you 
must  grudge  a  chance  glance  round  a  cafe." 

She  laughed  as  she  ended,  expanding  her 
scarlet  lips  into  an  intoxicating  bow.  I  looked 
at  it  and  crushed  any  passing  resentment  at 
her  words.  Was  not  all  my  pleasure  just  then 
in  the  hollow  of  her  hand? 

I  told  her  she  was  a  darling,  and  should  look 
wherever  she  pleased.  We  went  on  with  our 
dinner,  and  Theodora  confined  her  attention 
apparently  to  her  plate.  On  her  left,  at  the 
next  table,  sat  a  party  of  men,  seemingly  Eng- 
lishmen, one  of  whom  looked  like  a  clergyman. 

155 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

They  seemed  much  interested  in  us,  and  con- 
stantly looked  in  our  direction.  At  last,  to- 
wards the  close  of  our  dinner,  and  just  as  I  had 
said  I  hoped  all  the  billiard  tables  would  not 
be  taken,  the  clergyman  leaned  towards  her 
chair  and  said : 

"Monsieur  is  an  Englishman,  I  believe?" 

Theodora  looked  at  me,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  laughter,  and  answered,  "No,  I  cannot 
claim  that  honour." 

"Oh  really!  You  were  speaking  English 
so  wonderfully  well.  Surely  you  are  not  a 
Frenchman?" 

"I  thinly  you  will  not  be  able  to  say  what 
countryman  I  am,"  returned  Theodora,  look- 
ing at  him  and  then  at  the  other  men  at  the 
same  table.  "Is  it  a  matter  of  interest  to 

you?" 

"Oh,  merely,  I  thought — "  returned  the 
clergyman  hastily;  "I  was  going  to  ask 
you  to  accept—  and  he  turned  over  a 
pile  of  pamphlets  or  tracts  beside  him  in 
some  confusion.  "What  persuasion  are 
you?" 

"The  unpersuadable,  I  am  afraid,"  said 
Theodora,  mockingly. 

I  laughed,  and  leaned  back  and  watched  her. 
She  made  such  a  brilliant,  animated  picture. 

156 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

The  young  missionary  was  discomfited,  but  he 
persisted. 

"High  Church?" 

"No,  no  church!"  she  answered,  emptying 
the  champagne  bottle  between  our  two  glasses. 

In  his  embarrassment  her  interlocutor  failed 
to  catch  the  word. 

"Ah,  Low  Church,"  he  replied  hurriedly; 
"an  Ecclesiastican?" 

Theodora  burst  into  a  ringing  laugh. 

"No,  an  Elastican  rather.  Have  you  heard 
of  that  sect?" 

And  then,  amidst  the  laughter  of  the  Eng- 
lishmen who  had  caught  the  dialogue,  she 
pushed  back  her  chair  and  said  to  me,  "Come 
along,  Cecil;  we  shall  lose  our  table." 

When  we  got  to  the  billiard-room  the  tables 
were  full,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but 
lounge  at  the  bar  at  the  end  of  the  room  and 
drink.  Theodora  mixed  her  drinks  recklessly, 
but  she  seemed  none  the  worse  for  them,  and 
when  we  got  our  table  she  played  splendidly. 
After  that  drinks  and  then  another  game,  and 
then  more  drinks,  and  then  drinks,  and  then 
drinks,  and  then  drinks,  and  at  twelve  o'clock 
we  were  both  in  that  state  when  one  ceases  to 
distinguish  between  the  edge  and  the  back  of 
one's  knife. 

157 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"No  more,  thanks;  I  have  had  enough," 
Theodora  said  decidedly  as  .we  stood  at  one 
corner  of  the  bar. 

"I  should  have  said  that  hours  ago,"  I  said, 
laughing. 

"You  should  have  said  it?  why  didn't  you 
then?  An  obvious  error  on  your  part,"  she 
retorted.  "Well,  at  any  rate,  let's  reel  home 
now." 

She  purposely  exaggerated,  for  we  had  not 
reached  the  reeling  stage,  As  the  cafe  closed 
we  walked  out  quite  respectably,  and  strolled 
with  linked  arms  back  to  the  hotel.  The  cold 
night  air  did  not  increase  our  sobriety,  and  I 
remember  the  hall  porter  eyed  us  sharply,  so 
perhaps  we  did  not  mount  the  stairs  in  quite 
a  straight  line.  Theodora  and  I,  however, 
balanced  each  other,  for  we  reached  the  top 
without  mishap,  and  going  down  the  corridor 
I  thought  how  convenient  and  pleasant  it  was 
to  have  that  delicious  figure  beside  me,  and 
that  warm  little  hand  upon  my  arm  instead  of 
la  waiting  wife  who  would  be  uncomfortably 
'cold  to-night  and  uncomfortably  hot  at  break- 
fast to-morrow.  This  was  a  darling  who 
looked  none  the  less  pretty  for  a  shade  of  in- 
toxication, and  who  would  be  none  the  less 
witty  and  intelligent  to-morrow  for  it,  but  who 

158 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

would  not  bore  me  with  reproaches  to  listen 
to  and  excuses  to  make.  I  don't  recommend 
this  kind  of  wife  to  other  men,  I  merely  say  I 
liked  it,  but  then  I  am  an  easy-going  fellow. 

When  we  reached  our  door  I  gave  her  the 
key. 

"I  say,  here's  the  key.     Can  you  get  it  in?'* 

Theodora  laughed. 

"Now,  Cecil,  I  like  that  I  Why,  I  am  as 
tossy  as  you  are!" 

The  next  day  was  Saturday.  We  got  up 
very  late,  making  our  appearance  in  the  coffee- 
room  about  noon;  but  as  we  had  nothing  in 
the  world  to  do  but  to  please  ourselves,  that 
did  not  matter.  During  dejeuner  I  told  Theo- 
dora that  I  thought  I  ought  to  go  and  see 
a  man  connected  with  our  company — it  was 
a  mere  matter  of  courtesy,  but  still  it  was  just 
as  well  that  I  should  call  upon  him  before  leav- 
ing Marseilles. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  she  answered.  "May  I 
come  too?" 

"I  think  it  would  be  better  not.  It  might 
make  talk  perhaps,  and  lead  to  bother.  You 
can  amuse  yourself  without  me  for  a  time, 
eh?" 

"Not  so  well  as  with  you,  but  still  I'll  try. 
When  are  you  coming  back?" 

15P 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"That's  just  what  I  can't  say.  The  fellow 
lives  in  the  Rue  Plunder,  outside  Marseilles, 
I  believe,  somewhere  in  the  suburbs.  I  may 
not  be  able  to  get  back  till  late — midnight 
perhaps." 

"But  you  won't  be  later  than  you  can  help, 
will  you?" 

"Now,  do  you  suppose  I  should  be  later 
than  I  can  help?"  I  returned  jestingly,  looking 
at  her  till  the  colour  rose  faintly  under  the 
soft  skin. 

I  started  in  the  afternoon,  leaving  Theodora 
playing  billiards  with  one  of  the  Frenchmen 
staying  in  the  hotel.  It  was  not  quite  the 
occupation  I  should  have  wished  for  her  while 
I  was  gone,  and  I  felt  a  jealous  stab  as  I  saw 
her  commence  the  game.  I  was  on  the  point 
of  hurriedly  exclaiming  she  might  find  some- 
thing better  to  do,  when  it  flashed  upon  me, 
what  occupation  should  I  prefer  for  her?  The 
next  instant  I  realised  there  was  none  that 
would  give  me  satisfaction. 

What  I  should  practically  like  would  be  to 
leave  her  shut  up  alone  in  that  dull,  third-floor 
room  with  the  key  turned  in  the  door  till  I 
came  back.  The  unworthy  selfishness  of  my 
phase  of  feeling  came  home  to  me  so  suddenly 
it  staggered  me.  I  saw  for  an  instant  into  the 

160 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

heart  of  my  egoism.  I  felt  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  the  impulse,  and  glad  I  had  not 
spoken. 

When  Theodora  said  carelessly  to  me,  as  she 
saw  me  stand  watching  her,  "You  don't  mind, 
Cecil?" 

"Certainly  not,"  I  answered,  and  went  out. 

When  I  came  back  at  two  in  the  morning 
on  the  Sunday,  out  of  the  icy  and  deserted 
streets,  I  felt  cold  and  tired,  and  as  I  climbed 
the  six  flights  of  stairs  to  the  third  floor  I  felt 
pleased  to  think  I  was  not  living  alone. 
Visions  of  a  room  made  bright  to  welcome 
me,  and  an  expectant  face  to  greet  me,  were 
in  my  mind.  Some  faint  approach  to  quiet 
domesticity  of  feeling,  to  married  orthodoxy 
came  over  me,  a  tranquil  satisfaction  and  pas- 
sion— barred.  "Perhaps  I  shall  become  a  re- 
formed character,  after  all,"  I  thought  lightly 
to  myself  as  I  turned  the  handle  and  entered 
the  room.  Certainly  it  had  all  been  made  com- 
fortable for  my  reception.  A  built-up  fire 
blazed  in  the  grate,  curtains  were  drawn,  the 
arm-chair  wheeled  up  to  the  fender,  the  gas 
half  turned  down,  and  even  the  proverbial 
slippers,  symbols  of  domesticity,  lay  by  the 
hearth.  But  no  Theodora!  No  waiting, 
wifely  figure.  No  meek  face  with  the  patient, 

161 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

if  slightly  acerbus  resignation  of  eight  hours 
waiting  on  it.  I  looked  round  the  room. 
Where  the  deuce  could  she  be  at  this  time  in 
the  morning?  On  the  table  lay,  hastily  flung 
down,  the  long-stemmed  cherrywood  pipe  I 
had  given  her,  and  her  tiny  smoking  fez  beside 
it.  The  tassel  swung  rakishly  over  the  edge 
of  the  table,  as  I  was  accustomed  to  see  it 
swing  over  her  white  neck  and  ear.  Feeling 
a  strange  transformation  and  reversion  of  sen- 
timent, I  flung  myself  into  the  chair  to  con- 
sider where  I  should  seek  her.  What  on  earth 
could  she  be  doing?  I  sent  the  domestic  slip- 
pers flying  with  a  kick  as  I  stretched  out  my 
wet  boots  to  the  fire.  Where  wras  I  to  look 
for  her?  In  the  streets,  in  the  adjoining  night 
brasserie,  or  where?  In  what  occupation,  and 
with  whom?  Like  drowsiness  at  the  sting  of 
a  scorpion,  so  fled  my  feelings  of  sleepy 
fatigue,  of  mild  languid  content,  and  the 
chaste  temperance  of  mind  with  which  I  came 
into  the  room.  Wide  awake  now,  I  looked 
round  the  room,  and  my  eyes  fell  on  the  male, 
fur-lined  overcoat  hanging  on  the  door,  the 
boots,  similar  to  my  own,  lying  under  the  chair, 
the  small  silk  hat  flung  in  the  corner  of  the 
couch,  and  laughed  at  the  thoughts  they 
brought  with  them  and  laughed  at  myself  of 

169. 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

a  few  minutes  ago.  "No  chance  of  my  refor- 
mation or  decadence,  whichever  it  is,  into  the 
domestic  animal  at  present.  By  Gad,  she  is 
an  education!"  I  muttered,  the  violent,  two- 
edged  passion  I  had  for  her  stirring  my  frame 
as  a  sword  might  tickle  one's  throat. 

I  was  annoyed,  of  course,  at  not  finding  her 
there;  but  the  annoyance  only  stimulated  a 
fierce  desire  to  get  her  there.  I  had  fully 
counted  upon  her  being  there ;  been  absolutely 
confident,  though  half  unconsciously  so,  of 
seeing  a  submissive,  patient  figure  sitting  at 
the  fire,  and  had  this  been  realised,  the  ex- 
pected greeting  kiss  would  then  have  warmed 
but  not  disturbed  the  fatigued  and  peaceful 
tenour  of  my  feelings.  But  now,  in  the  shock 
of  her  absence,  alone  in  this  room,  with  these 
things  of  hers  to  recall  her  position,  all  the 
keen,  jealous  emotions  of  these  relations  broke 
into  flame.  The  extreme  insecurity  of  my 
possession  came  home  to  me  with  sudden  force. 
The  free  and  perfect  independence  of  my  fel- 
low stood  out  well  defined  before  me.  I  had 
no  legal,  no  absolute,  no  apparent  hold  upon 
her.  There  was  absolutely  no  tie  nor  bond  be- 
tween us,  except,  indeed,  that  most  sacred  and 
most  blessed — of  will.  So  long  as  I  stood  first 
to  excite  her  passions  and  her  fancies,  so  long 

163 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

was  Theodora  bound  to  me,  and  so  long  only. 
Had  our  life  been  seven  years  old  instead  of 
seven  days,  I  might  have  quietly  turned  into 
bed  and  left  her  to  follow  or  not  as  she 
pleased;  but  seven  days  is  not  the  period  for 
indifference,  and  after  the  above  stabbing  re- 
flections and  a  few  others  I  sprang  to  my  feet 
in  an  angry,  irritated,  excited  flame  of  jealous 
passion.  "What  the  dickens  can  she  be  do- 
ing?" I  thought,  replacing  my  hat,  and  I  went 
out  of  the  room  to  search  for  her.  The  pas- 
sage outside  was  unlighted,  black  and  silent. 
The  whole  hotel  seemed  wrapped  in  the  pro- 
foundest  and  most  respectable  slumber. 

Undecided  as  to  where  to  look  for  her,  I 
continued  mechanically  down  the  corridor,  my 
pulses  beating  faster  and  my  thoughts  grow- 
ing more  angry  every  moment.  I  passed  on, 
my  feet  making  no  sound  upon  the  carpeted 
floor,  meditating  with  myself  whether  I  should 
go  and  interview  the  night  porter,  when  a 
streak  of  light  from  beneath  the  end  door  in 
the  corridor  caught  my  eyes,  and  almost  at 
the  same  moment  I  heard  the  sound  of  laugh- 
ter and  voices  coming  from  the  same  room,  and 
amongst  them  I  could  distinguish  clearly 
Theodora's  high-pitched,  effeminate,  and  some- 
what affected  tones,  I  stopped  still  for  a 

164, 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

second  as  I  heard  them,  the  blood  mounting 
to  my  brain  in  furious  waves.  What  were 
these  rooms?  I  knew  they  were  all  private 
ones.  The  billiard,  smoking,  coffee,  and  read- 
ing rooms  were  all  on  the  first  and  ground 
floors.  The  next  moment  I  had  reached  the 
door  and  flung  it  open.  Within,  there  was  a 
blaze  of  light,  and  the  air  was  full  of  tobacco 
smoke  and  the  scent  of  brandy  and  liqueur.  In 
the  centre  of  the  room,  which  was  nothing  but 
a  large  and  well-furnished  bedroom,  stood  a 
round  table  covered  with  green  baize.  Cards 
were  scattered  over  it  amongst  the  half -filled 
tumblers,  straws,  and  toothpicks,  and  four  men 
were  seated  at  it — that  is,  three  men  and  Theo- 
dora. 

A  game  apparently  had  just  been  concluded. 
A  gabble  of  French  was  going  on.  One  of 
the  players  was  leaning  on  the  table  and  shak- 
ing an  excited  finger  in  Theodora's  face  as  he 
shouted,  "Mais  si,  mais  si,  on  ne  put  pas  dire 
que  1'amour  et  la  fortune — " 

She  was  sitting  exactly  opposite  the  door, 
and  her  head  was  leaning,  yes,  actually  lean- 
ing, on  her  neighbour's  shoulder.  The  veins  in 
my  forehead  seemed  ready  to  split  as  my  eyes 
fell  on  her  and  saw  her  tossed  dark  hair  and 
pale  face  against  the  fellow's  sleeve.  She 

165 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

raised  her  eyes,  sparkling  with  animation,  to 
the  door  as  I  opened  it,  and  her  eyes  first  met 
mine  as  I  came  in.  Whether  mine  revealed 
the  rage  of  jealous  fury  I  felt  I  don't  know, 
but  as  I  looked  at  her,  I  thought  a  shade  of 
fear  crossed  her  face.  The  next  moment  the 
men  had  looked  round,  and  then  with  French 
courtesy  one  rose  and  offered  me  a  chair. 
"Entrez,  entrez,  Monsieur.  Asseyez  vous," 
came  from  all  of  them,  and  I  could  do  nothing 
except  enter  quietly  and  force  a  pleasant  smile. 
None  of  them  were  actually  drunk,  but  all 
more  or  less  upon  the  border-ground. 

I  came  up  to  the  table  and  passed  round  to 
Theodora's  chair.  Not  even  then  did  she  alter 
her  attitude  or  remove  her  head  from  the 
Frenchman's  shoulder.  I  could  say  nothing. 
I  stood  behind  their  chairs,  beside  myself  with 
the  savage  longing  to  seize  Theodora  and  drag 
her  from  the  table  and  kick  her  companion 
under  it.  He  was  a  good-looking  fellow  of 
the  sleek-haired,  smooth-shaven  Parisian  type, 
a  trifle  older  perhaps  than  myself. 

"What  time?"  said  Theodora,  looking  up  at 
me. 

"A  quarter  to  three,"  I  answered,  looking  at 
my  watch.  "Do  you  intend  going  to  bed  at 
all  to-night,  Theodore?"  I  said,  looking  at  her. 

166 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

Do  what  I  would  my  voice  shook  with  sup- 
pressed anger  as  I  spoke,  and  the  men  looked 
from  her  to  me  with  some  surprise.  Theo- 
dora rose  hurriedly  from  the  table.  She  stag- 
gered slightly,  and  I  took  her  arm  to  keep  her 
straight. 

"Vous  partez?"  came  a  chorus  from  the  trio 
with  a  note  of  keen  disappointment. 

"Mais  oui,  Messieurs,  a  trois  heures  il  faut 
n'est  ce  pas?"  she  answered,  with  one  of  her 
most  brilliant  sparkling  smiles.  I  gripped  her 
arm  tighter  and  dragged  her  to  the  door. 

"A  demain  alors  a  demain,  notre  revanche," 
they  shouted  after  us  as  I  closed  the  door. 

Without  a  word  I  hurried  her  down  the 
passage,  not  heeding  nor  even  hearing  the  few 
broken  sentences  she  uttered.  The  passage 
was  in  utter  darkness,  but  still  it  was  public 
ground,  and  in  public  Theodora  was  nothing 
to  me.  It  was  when  I  had  drawn  her  half 
shrinking  and  stumbling  over  the  threshold  of 
our  own  door  that  I  took  her  into  my  arms 
and  kissed  her.  I  could  not  strike  her,  but 
my  feelings  were  more  akin  to  blows.  I  was 
conscious  of  nothing  but  a  furious,  intolerably 
stimulated  rage  of  passion  and  jealous  anger. 

Theodora  tried  to  wrench  herself  free  from 
me  with  frightened  efforts. 

167 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"What  is  the  matter,  Cecil?"  she  exclaimed; 
"are  you  mad?" 

"Perhaps  I  am,"  I  answered  with  a  short 
laugh.  "I  think  you  are  enough,  Theodora, 
to  drive  any  fellow  mad." 

"Now,  Cecil,  how  unreasonable  you  are!" 
she  said,  still  trying  to  tear  herself  away,  with 
the  tears  in  her  eyes.  "Let  me  go.  You  are 
hurting  me." 

"I  don't  care:  you  have  hurt  me  consider- 
ably this  evening!" 

"Why?  How?  Surely  playing  cards  is 
not  a  crime?" 

"Playing  cards!  No,"  I  said,  with  an  all 
but  irresistible  desire  to  strike  silent  the  in- 
solent, smiling,  wine  and  smoke-stained  lips. 
"But  when  I  come  back  at  three  in  the  morn- 
ing I  do  not  expect  to  find  you  half -drunk 
in  another  fellow's  bedroom,  with  your  arms 
round  his  neck!" 

"Cecil,  how  can  you  be  so  unjust!"  she  said, 
"and  do  take  your  arm  away,  you  will  injure 
my  throat !"  with  a  burst  of  passionate,  excited 
tears.  "My  arms  were  not  round  his  neck, 
and  as  for  the  room,  what  objection  could  I 
make  to  that?  If  I  were  the  man  they  think 
me,  nominally  there  would  be  nothing  in  it." 

"Well,  there,  hush!"  I  said,  appeased  by  the 
168 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

rain  of  hot  salt  tears  and  the  tremendous  sobs 
that  shook  the  slight  excitable  frame,  feeling 
my  anger  rapidly  sinking,  engulfed  and  sub- 
merged in  an  overwhelming  flood  of  desire. 
"But  mind  I  won't  have  you  enter  their 
rooms  on  any  consideration.  Play,  if  you 
want  to,  downstairs,  or  if  you  can't  do  that, 
make  some  excuse  and  decline  altogether. 
And  why  let  them  touch  you?  If  you  were 
fifty  times  a  fellow,  hang  it,  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do,  you  could  object  to  that.  Surely  you 
don't  want  them?  You  are  not  tired  of  me 
yet,  Theodora?"  I  asked,  looking  into  her  still 
streaming  eyes. 

"Oh  no,  Cecil,  you  don't  understand  at  all!" 
she  said  vehemently.  "Only  you  were  gone 
such  an  age — and  you  demand  so  much  from 
me — perhaps  you  don't  realise  it,  but  this  life 
has  so  much  excitement  in  it;  and  then  this 
eight  hours — the  reaction — they  seemed  eight 
years.  I  only  went  to  find  some — some— 

"And  suppose,  by  chance,  I  had  been  de- 
tained and  not  come  back  at  all  to-night,  what 
then?"  I  asked,  reading  a  good  deal  between 
her  broken,  sobbing  words. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  I  might  have  cut  my 
throat.  It  is  a  state,  Cecil,"  she  continued 
passionately,  "and  you  like  it  at  times,  and  you 

t69 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

can't  complain  of  it  at  others.  If  I  cared  for 
you  less  when  you  were  with  me,  I  should  be 
a  safer  person  to  leave  in  your  absence." 

The  palms  of  her  hands  were  burning;  her 
eyes  blazed  through  her  tears,  the  dark  lines 
of  exhaustion  showed  beneath  them ;  the  scarlet 
lips  quivered  convulsively,  and  I  felt  every 
muscle  in  her  tremble,  and  her  heart  beat  hard 
upon  mine.  It  was  a  question,  as  she  said,  of 
state  and  temperament.  And  it  is  that  intense 
crave  and  thirst  after  excitement,  that  pecul- 
iar, dangerous  capability  of  excitement  in  an- 
other, that  stirs  it  so  strongly  in  ourselves.  I 
thought  I  would  not  have  her  different,  as  I 
felt  the  electricity  of  the  nervous  frame  pass 
through  my  own. 

"No,  I  don't  complain  of  anything,"  I  said, 
pressing  her  closer  to  me.  "Now,  don't  cry 
any  more:  kiss  me,  and  let's  make  it  up." 

And  that  was  my  domestic  home-coming! 
Through  the  following  day,  Sunday,  Theo- 
dora seemed  tired  and  quiet.  We  hardly 
spoke  to  each  other  through  dejeuner,  and  I 
went  downstairs  soon  after  to  the  smoking- 
room,  leaving  her  idling  with  a  newspaper  on 
the  couch.  Now,  had  this  girl  been  merely  my 
mistress,  it  would  have  been  a  considerable 
time  before  her  presence  again  became  so 

170 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

much  of  a  necessity  to  me  as  to  cause  me  to 
seek  it.  But  Theodora  was  infinitely  more  to 
me  than  a  mistress,  and  the  foundations  of  her 
position  were  laid  far  deeper  down  in  my  neces- 
sities and  desires  than  those  of  a  marriage  or 
love  relationship.  The  passion  for  her  sprang 
with  equal  vigour  from  its  twin  roots,  one  of 
which  lay  in  the  intellect  and  one  in  the  senses. 
Some  may  smile,  perhaps,  and  say  the  last  only 
was  real  and  the  first  but  imaginary.  But  I 
absolutely  deny  the  impossibility  of  that  which 
one  may  term  a  passion  of  the  intellect,  inde- 
pendent of  the  enjoyment  of  sense — a  passion 
which  is  born  from  the  delight  that  the  presence 
of  a  particular  person  confers,  a  certain  pecul- 
iar pleasure  in  their  voice,  in  their  language,  in 
their  movement  near  one  or  mere  passive  con- 
tiguity. I  admit  that  this  intellectual  or  brain 
passion  rapidly  suggests,  and  must  inevitably 
give  birth  to  a  sensual  one,  whether  attain- 
ment to  actual  possession  of  the  object  is  pos- 
sible or  not.  But  if  possession  is  granted,  it 
does  not  at  all  follow  that  the  brain  passion 
is  extinguished  in  consequence;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  then  forms  a  powerful  living  stem 
from  which  spring  incessantly  the  transient 
and  short-lived  flowers  of  sensual  desires.  I 
admit  also  that  this  brain  passion  is  rare,  be- 

171 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

cause  it  demands  a  great  force  of  intellec- 
tuality in  both  the  subject  and  the  object,  and 
in  proportion  as  intellectuality  and  the  im- 
pulses and  requirements  of  intellect  in  men 
are  rarer  than  sensuality  and  the  impulses  and 
requirements  of  sense,  so  is  this  brain  passion 
rarer  than  that  of  the  senses.  But  in  natures 
where  the  intellect  balances  or  more  than  bal- 
ances the  demands  of  the  senses,  and  when 
these  natures  meet  an  object  that  delights  the 
former  and  satisfies  the  latter,  the  bond  be- 
tween the  two  individuals  becomes  indestruc- 
tible, and  neither  breaks  nor  frays  in  the  strain 
of  daily  contact.  This  was  the  bond  that  ex- 
isted between  us.  The  instinctive  pleasure 
and  ease  that  I  felt  in  her  companionship 
underlay  the  keen  attraction  of  her  physical 
personality.  But  whereas  the  charm  of  the 
last  varied  and  rose  and  fell  with  my  own 
physical  feelings,  the  first  mentioned  remained 
unchanged  and  possessed  equal  power  over  me 
in  all  my  moods. 

I  wandered  into  the  smoking-room,  and 
stayed  there  ten  minutes,  heard  some  conver- 
sation that  did  not  interest  me,  and  then 
lounged  through  the  billiard-room.  Here  a 
game  was  in  progress,  and  I  stood  to  watch  it. 
There  was  a  fellow  near  me  also  looking  on, 

172 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

and  I  made  some  remarks  to  him  upon  the 
strokes.  His  answers  were  extremely  foolish, 
I  thought,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  game 
obviously  nil.  I  walked  on  after  a  few  sec- 
onds and  entered  the  reading-room.  Here  I 
picked  up  some  of  the  papers  and  read  an 
article  or  two,  yawned,  laid  them  down,  looked 
round,  and,  noticing  a  door  at  the  other  end, 
got  up  and  walked  to  it.  This  led  me  into 
the  drawing-room.  It  was  fairly  full,  chiefly 
of  women.  One  or  two  French  couples 
were  poring  over  time-tables  or  guide-books. 
Two  or  three  women,  minus  companions,  sat 
at  side-tables.  Several  English  and  American 
girls  were  looking  through  the  window  or  turn- 
ing the  leaves  of  a  novel.  I  passed  through 
the  room  slowly,  as  if  undecided  what  to  do, 
which  I  was,  and  several  glances  met  mine  and 
invited  me  towards  particular  chairs  and  tables. 
But,  unscathed  by  the  battery  of  eyes,  I  walked 
through  the  room  and  passed  out  at  the  other 
end. 

The  coffee-room  was  cheerless  and  empty, 
My  feet  carried  me  through  it,  and  then  in- 
stinctively took  me  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs, 
and  I  ascended  them  gladly  to  re-find  her.  I 
did  not  want  the  society  of  a  wife  or  a  mis- 
tress, nor  of  any  woman  just  then.  I  wanted 

173 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

a  pleasant  intimate,  a  sensible,  intelligent 
chum,  and  I  went  to  my  present  companion 
for  these  as  confidently  as  I  would  have  done 
for  the  former.  She  was  intelligent,  de- 
cidedly clever,  and  cleverness  is  the  first  essen- 
tial in  my  eyes  for  a  companion.  I  would 
tolerate  and  overlook  moral  and  even  physical 
defects,  deformity,  and  hideousness,  provided 
the  intellect  subjoined  were  compensatingly 
brilliant.  She  was  curled  round  in  the  corner 
of  the  couch,  fast  asleep.  I  woke  her  without 
ceremony.  It  was  not  till  I  heard  her  give 
a  long-drawn  sigh  as  she  opened  her  eyes  that 
it  struck  me  it  might  have  been  more  unselfish 
to  have  left  her  undisturbed. 

"I  say,  I  am  sorry  I  woke  you!"  I  said  im- 
pulsively, as  the  dark  wine-colored  eyes  opened 
upon  me,  which  sounded  a  very  senseless  re- 
mark, but  was  true  nevertheless,  as  I  looked 
at  her. 

People  will  quarrel  with  me  for  comparing 
any  eye  to  wine.  But  there  was  nothing  that 
those  pupils  and  irides,  when  they  seemed  to 
melt  and  mingle  into  each  other  in  a  dim  light, 
as  now  in  this  darkening  room,  reminded  me  of 
so  much.  Their  swimming,  liquid,  brilliant 
depths,  full  of  changing,  varying  lights  and 
hues  and  shadows,  had  just  the  mysterious 

174 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

darkness  and  glowing  warmth  of  wine  seen  in 
the  shade.  They  smiled  on  me  now  as  wine 
flashes  in  a  sudden  ray  of  light. 

"Oh,  don't  be  sorry!  Couldn't  find  any- 
thing to  do  down  stairs?"  she  said  lightly. 

"No,"  I  answered,  drawing  up  an  easy-chair 
to  the  fire  and  lighting  a  cigar,  feeling  my 
ennui  dispelled  at  once,  and  a  quiet  satisfac- 
tion diffused  through  me. 

I  had  found  nothing  in  particular  to  say  to 
her,  nor  she  to  me,  but  that  did  not  matter. 
The  peculiarity  of  this  strange,  attractive  influ- 
ence that  the  society  of  some  particular  person 
can  exert  over  the  mind  of  another  is  its  inde- 
pendence of  the  person's  activity.  Their  abso- 
lute silence  is  as  potent  as  their  conversation. 
The  charm  acts,  then,  through  our  conscious- 
ness that  if  or  when  they  do  speak  we  shall  be 
pleased  and  gratified,  and  our  mind  is  quite 
satisfied  with  this  confident  expectation.  The 
converse  of  this  is  equally  striking.  At  any 
rate,  I  have  found  it  so. 

When  shut  up  with  a  hopelessly  unintellec- 
tual  companion,  his  silence  tortures  me  posi- 
tively more  than  his  speech.  While  he  is  talk- 
ing the  mind  knows  that  it  is  suffering  the 
worst  that  can  be  inflicted,  and  gathers  a  cer- 
tain strength  to  bear  the  ordeal.  But  that  ter- 

175 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

rible  silence  of  a  fool,  when  one's  brain  is  kept 
in  a  momentary,  agonised,  nervous,  semi-con- 
scious apprehension  of  his  next  idiotic  remark, 
which  may  be  suspended  over  one's  strained 
ears  without  falling  for  hours,  is  to  me  simply 
unendurable. 

Perhaps  I  am  particularly  sensitive  in  this 
way,  but  if  at  times  I  suffer  severely  in  conse- 
quence, I  have  still  the  compensation  of  hours 
like  these,  when  the  mere  association  of  some 
particular  human  being  pours  a  delicious, 
languid  satisfaction  like  balm  through  the 
entire  mental  and  physical  organisation. 

We  sat  on,  talking  and  silent  by  turns,  and 
the  time  slipped  away  unnoticed,  till  the  room 
was  quite  dark  and  full  of  the  smoke  from  our 
cigars,  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  regret  that 
we  stirred  at  last  and  went  down  to  dinner. 

The  day  following  we  went  on  board. 


176 


CHAPTER    VI 

THE  ship  was  full,  or  rather  it  seemed  to  be 
so.  There  was  no  great  crush  of  first-class 
passengers,  but  owing  to  the  easy,  go-as-you- 
please  disposition  of  the  captain,  the  deck 
was  crowded  with  the  second  and  third-class 
voyagers  who  flowed  up  aft.  The  cabin  that 
I  had  secured  for  ourselves  was  in  the  centre 
of  the  ship,  had  two  comfortable  sofa  berths, 
and  two  large  windows.  The  miserable,  in- 
finitesimal, old-fashioned  port-hole  is  a  thing 
of  the  past.  These  windows,  indeed,  could  be 
reduced  to  port-hole  dimensions  in  a  storm, 
but  now,  in  clear  weather,  the  whole  square 
glass  pane  was  set  open,  and  the  welcome  salt 
air  came  blowing  through  the  cabin.  The  two 
remaining  berths  at  either  end  made  conven- 
ient shelves  and  hat-racks.  The  arm-chair 
screwed  into  the  floor,  and  the  looking-glasses 
on  the  walls  gave  it  quite  a  tolerable  aspect  of 
comfort.  While  we  were  dressing  for  dinner 
Theodora  remarked  it  was  lucky  we  had  no 
fellow-passengers  with  us. 

177 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"I  am  afraid  it  was  no  peculiar  and  flatter- 
ing disposition  of  providence  in  our  favour," 
I  answered.  "Of  course,  I  had  to  engage  all 
four  berths." 

Theodora  turned  round  from  the  glass  and 
looked  at  me  in  palpable  distress. 

"Oh,  Cecil!  then  you  had  to  pay  four  times 
as  much  as  if  you  were  going  out  alone!" 

"Well?"  I  said  with  a  smile,  coming  up  to 
her  and  ruthlessly  ruffling  all  her  hair  that  she 
had  just  been  brushing  smooth  into  a  glossy 
confusion  again.  "What  is  there  in  that,  con- 
sidering that  I  have  four  thousand  times  as 
much  pleasure  as  if  I  were  going  out 
alone?" 

"I  am  afraid  there  is  something  weak  in  the 
mathematics,  Cecil,"  she  answered  with  an  arch 
and  lovely  smile.  "There!  let  me  go! 
There's  the  dinner-bell!" 

At  dinner,  the  women,  of  course,  were  sand- 
wiched down  the  table  between  the  men,  and 
Theodora  and  I  had  a  lovely  girl  of  about 
eighteen  separating  us.  Her  snow-white  pro- 
file and  weft-dressed,  canary-coloured  head 
completely  shut  Theodora's  from  my  sight.  I 
tried  to  talk  to  her,  for  I  heard  Theodora's 
voice  wholly  occupied  in  a  high  rattle  of 
French,  gossiping  with  and  chaffing  the  fat 

178 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

Parisienne  on  her  other  side,  from  whom  I 
heard  constantly  the  phrase,  "Ah,  mais  c'est 
amusant  cal"  The  consequence  was  this 
pretty  girl  was  left  wholly  to  me,  but  she  was 
atrociously  dull.  I  got  three  whole  sentences 
out  of  her  besides  "yeses"  and  "no's"  during 
two  hours. 

It  was  a  great  relief  when  the  women  left 
the  men  to  their  coffee  and  liqueur,  and  here- 
upon I  immediately  moved  into  the  pretty 
girl's  chair,  which  brought  me  next  Theodora, 
who  was  now  discussing  the  quality  of  the 
cigars  with  the  captain  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
As  soon  as  I  could  get  her  attention  I  said 
reproachfully,  "You  have  seriously  injured 
my  digestive  organs  by  throwing  the  strain  of 
that  dreadful  girl  on  me  all  dinner." 

Theodora  turned  her  brilliant,  sparkling 
face  towards  me  and  laughed. 

"What  ingratitude!  That  girl  was  sweetly 
pretty.  I  left  her  to  you  specially.  You  had 
a  hideous  creature  on  your  right.  I  should 
like  to  have  done  the  civil  to  that  pretty  girl ;  I 
thought  you'd  be  enchanted." 

"Pretty  1"  I  said,  stirring  my  coffee. 
"What  is  the  good  of  a  girl  being  pretty  if 
she  can't  amuse  you?" 

"She  was  only  a  little  shy,"  returned  Theo- 
179 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

dora,  turning  two  glasses  of  liqueur  into  her 
cup. 

"Shy?  well,  Heaven  protect  me  from  girls 
who  are  shy  then,  if  that  is  the  form  the  dis- 
order assumes!"  I  said. 

After  dinner  I  lingered  a  second  or  two  in 
the  saloon,  looking  into  a  novel  on  one  of  the 
tables.  I  could  not  have  been  more  than  three 
minutes,  but  when  I  went  on  deck  I  found 
the  passengers  had  all  resolved  themselves  into 
couples,  and  were  already  sauntering  round 
the  deck,  two  and  two.  I  leaned  against  the 
rail  smoking  and  looking  for  Theodora,  think- 
ing I  would  join  her  when  I  saw  her.  Then 
suddenly  I  caught  sight  of  her  coming  down 
towards  me,  behind  the  other  couples,  and,  to 
my  disgust,  she  had  the  pretty  girl  with  the 
canary  hair  leaning  on  her  arm!  I  watched 
her,  feeling  a  strange  sensation — surely  it 
could  not  be  jealousy? — as  I  saw  the  straight, 
graceful  figure  revealed  by  the  male  dress  com- 
ing towards  me  with  an  easy  gait,  the  power- 
ful shoulders  and  the  small  dark  head  bent 
down  over  her  companion,  who  was  looking 
up  with  a  smile  and  a  pink  flush  suffusing 
either  cheek.  Theodora  was  laughing  as  usual, 
and  under  a  pretense  of  a  slight  rolling  of  the 
ship,  she  had  drawn  the  girl's  arm  closely 

180 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

through  her  own.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  in 
unveiled  admiration  on  the  wax-like  face  raised 
to  her.  As  she  passed  me  she  gave  a  sideway, 
provoking  glance  at  me,  and  the  flash  from 
under  her  dark  lashes  seemed  to  say  mockingly, 
"I  have  woken  up  your  shy  girl,  and  I  don't 
find  her  so  dull." 

They  passed  on.  My  eyes  followed  her  till 
the  perfect  shoulders  in  the  cloth  coat  were 
lost  amongst  the  other  figures,  and  then  I 
turned  and  leaned  over  the  vessel's  side,  and 
looked  down  into  the  water  with  a  queer  com- 
plex sensation  that  one  might  call  mental  diz- 
ziness. I  could  hardly  find  fault  with  Theo- 
dora now.  Full  of  peremptory,  jealous  pas- 
sion, I  had  dragged  her  away  from  the  society 
of  men  when  I  had  found  her  amongst  them, 
therefore  now  this  ought  to  be  quite  in  ac- 
cordance with  my  wishes.  And  yet,  to  see  her 
making  love  to  this  girl  set  my  brain  in  a 
savage  whirl.  I  did  not  want  to  see  her  pass 
again,  so  I  strolled  down  the  deck  toward  the 
second-class  saloon.  A  good-looking  girl  was 
sitting  in  a  long  chair,  just  outside  it.  I 
paused  and  asked  her  if  she  would  stroll  round 
with  me. 

"The  vessel  is  rolling  so  much,  I  should  lose 
my  balance,"  she  answered. 

181 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"Not  if  you  take  my  arm,"  I  said  per- 
suasively. 

She  got  up,  took  my  arm,  and  we  mingled 
with  the  other  strollers.  We  were  now  three 
couples  behind  Theodora  and  the  yellow-haired 
girl.  Theodora  glanced  back  over  her  com- 
panion's head,  and  when  she  saw  me  she  smiled 
and  seemed  well  satisfied.  I  ground  my  teeth, 
and  was  so  preoccupied  I  did  not  catch  what 
the  girl  on  my  arm  was  saying.  Then  I  made 
an  effort  and  turned  to  her  and  flattered  her 
and  flirted  with  her  and  drew  her  out  as  much 
as  it  was  possible — that  is  to  say  as  far  as  she 
would  come,  but,  like  a  cheap  table  drawer, 
that  was  not  very  far.  Her  conversation  and 
all  that  she  said  was  of  no  worth  and  full  of 
no  amusement  in  itself,  as  Theodora's  gener- 
ally was.  And  then  the  fact  that  she  was 
extremely  handsome  was  of  no  intrinsic  benefit 
to  me.  I  can  never  bring  myself  into  the 
objective  state  of  feeling.  A  pair  of  lips, 
however  neatly  turned,  seem  of  no  value  what- 
ever if  I  cannot  or  do  not  want  to  kiss  them. 
Merely  to  admire  them,  unless  indeed  they  are 
saying  something  to  amuse  me,  becomes  very 
wearisome.  At  last  the  girl  said  she  was  sea- 
sick. I  blessed  her  constitution,  and  con- 

182 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

ducted  her  tenderly  to  the  companion  stairs. 
Then  I  looked  round. 

Theodora  was  sitting  at  the  end  of  the  ves- 
sel, still  spooning  with  the  yellow-haired  girl. 

I  went  off  to  the  smoking-room  in  a  dud- 
geon. At  eleven  I  wTent  down  to  the  cabin. 
Theodora  was  not  there,  of  course,  and  I  took 
a  few  nervous  turns  in  it,  thinking,  why  did 
I  feel  so  angry  with  her?  Was  it  merely  that. 
I  had  wanted  her  for  myself?  I  was  very 
much  in  love  with  Theodora  now,  and  any 
passion  in  me  was  apt  to  run  to  unwise  ex- 
tremes. But  still,  frankly  admitting  my 
selfish  and  jealous  nature,  there  was  an  exas- 
perating quality  about  her.  It  was  a  per- 
petual stimulus  to  my  feelings  in  regard  to  her. 
There  seemed  no  possibility  of  their  settling 
down  and  remaining  at  any  one  respectable, 
moderate  level.  As  soon  as  they  were  the 
least  inclined  to  do  so,  she  disturbed  them  all 
and  threw  them  into  a  feverish  confusion. 
And  yet,  was  it  not  from  this  source  that  I 
drew  my  own  keen  moments  of  personal  pleas- 
ure? Should  I  have  cared  a  straw  for  a 
woman  who  offered  me  one  tame,  flat,  calm, 
dreary  level  of  content?  I  knew  I  should  not. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  and  then  I 

183 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

heard  a  light  step  outside,  and  Theodora  sing- 
ing in  her  aristocratic  voice,  which  lent  a  dig- 
nity to  the  words  they  hardly  otherwise  pos- 
sessed— 

"  Out  all  night,  drunk  all  day, 
Lays  me  a  thick  'un  if  I've  a  word  to  say " 


The  door  opened. 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  Cecil." 

"Where  the  dickens  have  you  been  all  this 
time?"  I  asked. 

"I  have  just  seen  Miss  King  to  her  cabin." 

I  consigned  Miss  King  to  another  and  a 
warmer  sphere.  Theodora's  face  blanched  as 
she  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"Come  in  and  shut  the  door,"  I  said  per- 
emptorily. "What  do  you  think  I  am  going 
to  do  to  you?" 

"Don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  returned  Theo- 
dora, coming  in  and  closing  the  door  behind 
her,  but  not  approaching  me  a  step  farther. 
"You  look  cross  enough  for  anything!" 

I  went  up  to  her  where  she  stood,  with  her 
hands  behind  her,  leaning  against  the  wall,  her 
face  looking  excessively  pale  and  strikingly 
handsome  in  the  glare  of  the  two  electric 
burners.  I  often  wondered  whether  she  ever 
felt  actual  physical  fear  of  me  as  her  changing 

184 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

colour  seemed  to  show.  I  was  several  inches 
taller  than  she,  being  somewhere  over  six  feet, 
and  I  was  possessed  of  muscles  that  no  amount 
of  dissipation  or  Eastern  fever  could  soften. 
She  had  pinched  my  arm  once,  and  laughingly 
told  me  that  I  must  remember  that  one  blow 
from  it  would  be  enough  to  kill  her.  I  rather 
incline  to  the  idea  that  she  had  a  certain  fear, 
or  at  least  felt  that  nervous  excitement  which 
in  brave  natures  supplies  the  place  of  fear. 
But  if  she  did  feel  it,  it  was  not  strong  enough 
to  restrain  her  careless,  insubordinate  spirit 
from  saying  and  doing  exactly  what  it  pleased. 
And  at  times  she  was  inconceivably  insolent  to 
me — an  insolence  that  did  little  more  than 
further  inflame  my  love  for  her,  not  the  ten- 
derness of  love,  but — well,  the  rest.  Perhaps 
she  knew  this,  and  deliberately  used  her  inso- 
lence as  she  did  other  arts,  but  I  think  not;  I 
think  it  was  rather  the  outcome  of  her  natural 
recklessness. 

"What  made  you  stick  to  that  girl  all  the 
evening?"  I  asked. 

"Why!  did  you  want  her?  You  told  me 
you  didn't,"  she  said,  wilfully  misunderstand- 
ing me. 

I  made  use  of  an  impolite  expression. 

"Want  her!    Of  course  not!    But  what  ob- 

185 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

ject  have  you  in  making  love  to  another  girl?" 
"Simply  to  leave  you  free  to  do  what  you 

liked." 

"Free  to  do  what  I  liked!     You  know  there 

was  nothing  for  me  to  dp!" 

"Well,  Cecil,  there  is  as  much  for  you  to  do 

as  if  I  were  not  here  at  all,  and  a  whole  ship- 

ful  of  pretty  girls  dying  to  do  the  civil  to 

you!" 

"What  are  they  to  me?"  I  said  impatiently. 
"What  I  want  is  yourself,  and  every  one  seems 
to  have  a  prior  claim  on  you  than  I." 

"No,  but  look  here;  the  thing  is  this.  I 
can't  bear  that  you  should  feel  tied  to  me  in 
any  way.  A  man  gets  tired  of  anybody  per- 
petually boxed  up  with  him.  If  you  had 
married  me  in  the  ordinary  way,  you  would 
have  had  lots  of  change.  You  would  have 
spent  a  great  deal  of  time  away  from  me. 
Then  again,  if  I  were  a  great  friend  or  chum 
you  were  travelling  with,  you  would  not  be 
bound  to  be  always  with  me.  I  want  you  to 
have  as  much  freedom  and  as  much  variety  as 
you  would  have  in  either  of  these  relations. 
There  can  be  no  pleasure  without  liberty." 

"Thanks  for  your  consideration,  but  you 
have  given  me  a  deuced  lot  too  much  liberty 
to-night." 

186 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"Nonsense!  you  don't  want  me  eternally 
tacked  to  your  side." 

"Well,  come  along  now,"  I  concluded, 
knowing  it  was  hopeless  to  try  to  vanquish  her 
in  an  argument.  "I'm  not  ready  to  go  to  bed. 
We'll  get  some  pegs  out  of  the  steward,  and 
then  have  a  stroll  round.  It's  confoundedly 
hot  down  here." 

We  went  out  together  towards  the  saloon. 
Although  the  sea  was  superficially  smooth, 
there  was  a  great  swell  on,  and  the  vessel 
rolled  heavily  from  side  to  side.  Theodora 
walked  along  the  sloping,  shelving  boards  with 
firm,  certain  feet  and  beautifully  balanced 
figure  that  never  lunged  against  me  once,  as 
my  recent  companion's  had  done  fifty  times 
in  the  length  of  the  deck.  And  at  last  this 
independent  security  roused  the  contradictory 
desire  in  me  that  she  should  swerve  and  stag- 
ger and  seek  my  aid  and  support.  Then,  as 
she  did  none  of  these  things,  the  impulse  to 
control  these  lithe,  self-reliant  movements  be- 
came irresistible,  and  I  put  my  arm  round  her 
waist  and  drew  her  violently  against  me.  It 
was  not  an  affectionate  action,  nor  were  my 
feelings  the  least  affectionate,  but  it  supplied 
a  keen  satisfaction  to  me,  perhaps  also  to  her. 
At  any  rate,  she  offered  no  resistance  as  I 

187 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

caught  her  hand  and  brought  her  own  arm 
round  me.  She  merely  looked  at  me  with 
raised  eyebrows  and  murmured,  "Remember, 
we  may  be  seen." 

"I  don't  care  a  straw  about  that,"  I  an- 
swered, feeling  that  I  was  being  perpetually 
denied  my  rights.  "There  is  no  law  against 
our  arms  being  round  each  other's  waists." 

A  few  steps  more  brought  us  to  the  saloon 
door,  where  a  group  of  stewards  or  under- 
lings of  sorts  were  chattering  to  the  stewardess. 
We  went  through  them,  and  one  of  the  men 
remarked — 

"Comme  il  est  beau,  ce  petit  la!" 

"N'est  ce  pas?"  returned  the  fat  stewardess, 
sentimentally  rolling  up  her  eyes.  "Ah,  qu'il 
est  ravissantl" 

This  evening  was  fairly  typical  of  all  the 
evenings  and  days  on  board.  I  certainly 
could  not  complain  that  Theodora  tried  to 
mount  guard  over  me  as  a  piece  of  property 
belonging  to  her.  She  left  me  as  perfectly 
unfettered  as  if  she  had  been  another  fellow 
travelling  with  me.  She  never  sought  to  be 
with  me,  to  join  me  if  I  happened  to  be  talking 
to  the  other  passengers,  or  to  stay  beside  me 
if  others  joined  us.  At  the  same  time,  to  this 
reliance  upon  self,  this  independence,  this 

188 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

freedom  that  she  gave  to  me  and  took  for  her- 
self, that  scratched  and  kept  awake  my  desire 
to  attain  to  a  more  perfect  possession  of  her, 
she  added  a  flattering  submission  to  me  in  pub- 
lic that  gratified  my  vanity  enormously.  She 
was  a  distinct  favourite  with  all  the  passengers 
from  the  minute  we  came  on  board. 

There  are  some  people  who,  from  the 
strength  of  their  individuality,  seem  to  carve 
themselves  out  a  distinct  prominence  in  every 
society  they  happen  to  be  in.  At  dinner  the 
men  liked  to  talk  with  her  and  engage  her  at- 
tention. In  the  smoking-room  a  knot  invari- 
ably gathered  round  her.  On  deck  the  women 
fluttered  and  hovered  round  her,  and  her  chair 
was  always  the  centre  round  which  the  others 
formed  up.  And  the  general  attention  she 
received  she  turned  into  the  means  of  a  subtle 
flattery  to  myself. 

To  whomever  she  was  talking,  or  whatever 
she  was  doing,  if  I  came  up  and  claimed  her, 
she  would  break  away  with  a  careless  excuse 
from  her  occupation  and  companions  to  join 
me — often  to  those  companions'  intense  an- 
noyance. The  women  must  constantly  have 
been  "angered  against  me  in  their  hearts." 
Constantly  I  used  to  find  her  sitting  in  the 
laziest  of  attitudes  under  the  awning  aft,  with 

189 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

a  court  of  girls  and  women  surrounding  her, 
and  then  my  "Come  and  have  a  smoke,  Theo- 
dore," was  enough  to  make  her  get  up  and 
desert  them,  in  spite  of  all  their  winning  en- 
treaties to  "do  just  finish  what  you  were  say- 
ing, it  was  so  interesting." 

On  one  occasion  when  I  appeared  in  this 
way,  the  girl  who  was  sitting  next  the  con- 
spicuous long  chair,  and  with  whom  I  suppose 
Theodora  had  been  flirting  outrageously,  col- 
oured to  the  roots  of  her  hair  as  her  lover  rose 
obediently  to  my  summons,  and  said  furiously, 
"Really,  Mr.  Harrison,  you  seem  to  have  no 
will  of  your  own!" 

Before  men  her  deference  to  me  was  quite 
as  marked,  and  caused  some  comment  amongst 
them.  The  same  night  at  dinner,  after  the 
women  had  left,  a  discussion  on  the  question 
of  Protection  arose  between  the  captain  and 
us  at  his  end  of  the  table.  Theodora  warmly 
defended  it.  The  captain  opposed  it,  and  all 
the  men  near  them  took  sides  with  one  or  the 
other.  I  listened  in  silence,  principally  be- 
cause my  French,  though  serviceable  enough 
to  get  me  through  a  dinner  or  light  conversa- 
tion, would  be  rather  shaky  under  the  strain 
of  a  political  argument.  The  captain  was 
French,  and  did  not  upderstand  one  word  of 

190 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

English,  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  most  of 
the  parties  to  the  discussion.  This  seemed  to 
be  no  check  to  Theodora;  she  gabbled  off  her 
arguments  with  perfect  ease  and  precision.  I 
stood  it  until  she  attacked  one  of  my  pet  ad- 
vantages of  Free  Trade;  and  then,  summon- 
ing the  best  French  I  could,  I  broke  sharply 
in  upon  her  statement  and  ranged  myself  on 
the  captain's  side.  Theodora  turned  to  me. 
Her  face  was  brimming  over  with  the  anima- 
tion and  glow  of  the  argument.  She  flashed 
her  eyes  over  my  face,  and  then  became  sud- 
denly silent,  and  no  efforts  of  the  men  could 
get  a  further  expression  of  opinion  out  of  her. 

"I  decline  to  continue  the  argument  any 
farther,"  she  said  merely  when  pressed  to  re- 
fute mine  and  the  captain's  view. 

"We  all  know  why  that  is,"  exclaimed  the 
Parisian  sitting  opposite  her  with  an  angry 
sneer.  "It's  because  you  have  found  that  Mr. 
Ray  is  on  the  other  side!" 

An  appreciative  laugh  went  round,  and 
another  added,  "You  don't  dare  to  contradict 
him!"  And  a  third  put  in,  "Come,  come,  you 
have  a  right  surely  to  your  own  opinion!" 

I  watched  Theodora  curiously,  but  she  was 
not  to  be  drawn.  In  answer  to  their  raillery 
or  their  sneers  she  only  repeated,  "You  may 

191 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

think  what  you  please.  I  am  tired  of  the  dis- 
cussion." 

As  she  had  been  the  liveliest  supporter  of  it, 
it  flagged  after  her  withdrawal  from  it,  and 
eventually  fell  to  the  ground.  I  rather  en- 
joyed the  situation.  Perhaps  I  am  peculiarly 
vain,  but  I  am  not  sure  that  any  other  fellow 
would  not  have  felt  the  same  glow  of  gratifi- 
cation as  I  did  at  this  obvious  concession  of 
personal  rights  to  me  from  the  best-looking 
and  most  brilliant  individual  present.  Tibul- 
lus,  writing  of  the  male  mind,  could  give  no 
better  advice  to  the  would-be  ensnarers  of  it 
than  the  significant  hint, 

"  Obsequio  plurima  vincit  amor.5' 

Whether  Theodora  had  ever  read  the  line  or 
not,  she  was  mistress  of  the  sentiment.  And 
between  her  habitual  flattery  of  my  vanity  and 
the  perpetual  excitation  of  my  jealousy,  those 
days  on  board  did  not  tend  towards  calming 
my  passion  for  her. 

We  came  into  Port  Said  early,  about  three 
in  the  morning.  Theodora  and  I  were  stand- 
ing alone  on  deck.  None  of  the  other  passen- 
gers had  budged  from  their  berths,  but  she 
was  eager  to  see  every  port  or  station  we 
stopped  at,  even  for  half-an-hour.  And  to 

192 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

gratify  her  I  had  been  obliged  to  turn  out 
reluctantly.  A  greyish  haze  that  would  soon 
be  replaced  by  a  pitiless  blaze  of  sunlight  hung 
over  the  flat,  desolate,  and  sinister  little  port. 
It  has,  and  justly,  an  evil  name,  and  even  at 
that  time,  when  I  had  no  terrible  memory  con- 
nected with  it,  it  seemed  to  suggest  its  evil 
character  to  the  eye.  Its  low,  chimney  less, 
pink  and  yellow  houses  seem  to  grovel  naked 
and  ashamed  of  themselves  upon  the  barren 
shore.  No  smoke  rises  from  them.  No  tree 
grows  near  them.  Round  it  lie  the  sands  of 
the  desert,  that  possess  no  eye  to  see  nor  voice 
to  relate  its  doings.  Over  it  stretches  eternally 
an  unchanging,  pallid,  argentiferous  sky. 
While  we  looked  across  a  stretch  of  grey  water 
that  divided  us  from  it,  and  which  the  vessel 
was  reducing  each  minute,  the  mails  were 
brought  on  board.  There  was  a  letter  for  me, 
and  I  took  it  and  tore  it  open,  while  Theodora 
was  looking  over  my  shoulder.  I  withheld 
nothing  from  her.  She  was  accustomed  to 
read  all  my  letters,  and  had  answered  some 
before  now.  It  would  be  perfect  folly  to  al- 
low such  an  intimacy  to  some  women,  but 
Theodora's  feelings  were  above  all  wounding 
or  surprising,  and  I  concealed  nothing  from 
her  in  the  present  nor  in  the  past,  because  it 

193 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

was  simply  quite  unnecessary  to.     This  letter 
was  but  a  few  scrawled  words: — 


"  MY  DEAR  Cis, —  Very  down  with  f  ever.  Shall 
soon  have  to  toddle  if  this  continues.  If  ship  allows 
time,  come  and  look  me  up  for  the  sake  of  the  old  days. 
— Ever  yours,  "  JACK." 

I  saw  the  letter  was  dated  from  a  Port  Said 
agency  of  a  London  company.  The  hand- 
writing was  so  excessively  bad  and  faint  that 
it  was  hardly  legible. 

"Theo,  I  think  I  must  go  and  see  this  fel- 
low when  we  land;  I  am  afraid  he  is  very 
seedy." 

The  warm,  sympathetic  eyes  of  the  girl  be- 
side me  lighted  up  at  these  words. 

"Of  course,  if  you  like,"  she  said  simply. 

Now,  I  had  promised  Theodora  to  drive  her 
into  the  native  town,  which  lies  back  behind 
the  port,  and  she  had  been  very  eager  to  see  it, 
and,  considering  the  vessel  only  halted  two 
hours,  we  should  not  have  time  for  both  these 
things.  To  my  promise,  however,  she  made  no 
allusion  now,  and  she  would  not  accept  my 
apology  under  the  circumstances. 

"Don't  be  distressed,  Cecil.  It  does  not 
matter.  Of  course,  your  friend  comes  first." 

194 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

So  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  landing  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  dining-room  of  one  of 
the  matchbox-like  houses  adjoining  the  Eng- 
lish agency.  At  the  end  of  the  room,  under 
the  window,  through  which  came  what  sickly 
air  there  was,  lay  the  slight,  shrunken  form  of 
a  man  whom  I  had  last  see*  as  well  as  I  was 
now.  He  got  up  with  a  smile  and  extended 
his  hand,  attenuated  so  that  one  seemed  to  see 
the  light  through  it,  and  quivering  like  a  leaf 
in  the  wind. 

"This  is  awfully  kind,"  he  murmured  as  we 
shook  hands,  and  then  his  eyes  wandered 
curiously  over  my  companion.  I  introduced 
the  two,  and  then  I  sat  down  en  Jack's  couch. 

"What  has  knocked  you  up  so?"  I  asked. 
"You  look  fearfully  seedy." 

"Nothing  but  this  confounded  fever.  I 
can't  get  rid  of  it.  The  doctor  gives  me  only 
three  weeks  now." 

"Three  weeks  for  what?"  I  asked,  and  yet 
knowing  as  I  looked  at  him. 

"Why,  to  live!"  he  returned  with  his  familiar 
rackety  laugh,  but  which  now  sent  the  scarlet 
blood  flying  over  the  white,  emaciated  face, 
and  distended  painfully  the  visible  blue  veins 
by  the  sunken  temples. 

"But,  good  heavens!  Something  must  be 
195 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

done*  You  should  get  away  for  a  change," 
I  said. 

He  sighed  enviously,  and  turned  his  gaze 
through  the  window. 

"Change,  yes!  That's  what  I  am  dying  for, 
but  how  can  I  get  it  ?  I  must  stick  to  my  post 
here.  I  have  not  a  penny  except  my  pay. 
There  is  nobody  to  take  over  my  work  here 
for  the  agency  while  I  go  for  a  holiday.  Be- 
sides, I  have  not  the  necessary  cash  for  fares 
and  all  that.  Oh,  it's  no  use  thinking  of  it," 
he  added  hastily,  as  if  to  break  off  the  subject, 
and  with  a  glance  at  Theodora,  "I  don't  want 
to  worry  you  with  my  affairs.  I  did  not  know 
you  would  have  any  one  with  you,  and  when 
I  heard  the  boat  was  coming  in  I  thought  I 
should  just  like  to  see  you  again  before — be- 
fore—" 

His  bloodless  lips  trembled  violently,  and 
he  could  not  finish  his  sentence  and  looked 
away.  Death  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  con- 
template at  two-and-twenty.  I  was  moved 
too.  To  me,  full  of  life  and  strength  and  the 
triumphant  pleasure  of  a  gratified  passion,  the 
sudden  sight  of  a  fellow-being  stricken  and 
helpless,  passing  away  from  the  world  for  the 
want  of  a  few  pounds  or  a  friend  to  help  him, 
appealed  powerfully.  A  silence  fell  upon 

196 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

us  all.  I  looked  at  him,  thinking.  I 
saw  exactly  what  was  wanted  here,  ex- 
actly what  was  the  matter  with  him— 
continuous  fever,  that  for  weeks  and  weeks 
past  had  been  eating  away  his  flesh  and 
strength  until  it  had  made  him  the  wraith  of 
a  creature  he  was  now,  and  that  would  return 
and  return  with  greater  violence,  till  under 
one  of  its  gusts  the  weakened  frame  broke  up 
and  the  life  fled.  This,  if  he  stayed.  On  the 
other  hand,  a  fortnight  at  sea,  a  change,  a  rest, 
time  given  for  the  constitution  to  repair  the 
damage  done,  and  the  man  was  saved.  I 
knew  it,  for  I  had  seen  hundreds  of  similar 
cases.  My  impulse  was  at  once  to  give  up  my 
own  passage  and  cabin  on  board  the  boat  and 
to  let  him  go  by  it,  while  I  stayed  and  took 
over  his  work  till  he  recovered.  I  would 
have  spoken  out  to  him  immediately,  as  it  all 
rushed  through  me,  had  I  been  alone,  but 
Theodora  was  with  me,  and  to  her  I  was  bound 
first.  She  stood  to  me  before  everything  on 
earth.  I  glanced  at  her.  Our  eyes  met.  I 
suppose  she  read  my  wishes.  At  any  rate  she 
got  up  and  came  over  to  me,  and  we  both 
walked  away  to  the  second  window  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room. 

"Cecil,  if  you  want  to  take  this  man's  place  " 
197 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

she  said  simply  without  any  preface,  "and  let 
him  go  away,  don't  hesitate  on  my  account ;  I 
am  quite  willing." 

"But  the  heat  for  you,"  I  murmured,  "and 
your  disappointment." 

"Oh,  you  can't  balance  those  things  against 
a  man's  life,"  she  answered.  "It  will  be  an 
infinite  pleasure  if  we  save  it.  Tell  him  at 
once,  for  our  time  is  limited." 

I  pressed  her  hand  in  thanks,  and  went  back 
to  the  couch,  leaving  her  at  the  window. 

"You  haven't  any  fever  now,  have  you?"  I 
asked. 

"No;  it  always  comes  on  later,  after  sun- 
rise." 

"Well  then,  old  man,  you've  got  to  pick 
yourself  up  and  go  on  board  at  once.  There 
is  our  cabin,  which  is  empty,  and  the  passage  is 
paid  as  far  as  Aden.  So  you  must  just  trot 
along  out  there,  and  take  three  weeks'  rest  and 
leave  me  to  mount  guard  here." 

The  thin  face  under  my  gaze  went  from 
white  to  scarlet,  and  then  to  white  again. 

"My  dear  Cecil,  I  wouldn't  hear  of  such  a 
thing!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  couldn't  let  you  do 
it!  When  you  have  another  fellow  with  you, 
too!" 

198 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"As  to  that,  it  is  his  suggestion,"  I  said, 
laughing.  "Come,  you  must  not  think  twice 
about  it.  It's  your  only  chance.  It's  lucky 
I  have  just  turned  up  in  time.  Theodore  will 
get  all  our  things  off  the  boat,  and  you  must 
let  me  put  you  up  what  you  will  want  to  take 
with  you.  And  if  you  give  me  an  idea  of  what 
the  work  is  and  what  there  is  to  do,  I'll  promise 
to  get  through  it  all  right.  By  the  way,  I 
don't  know  when  you  draw  your  pay,  but  you 
will  want  your  expenses  at  Aden  and  your 
passage  back.  I'll  give  you  a  cheque  on  my 
bankers  there." 

And  I  got  out  my  pocket-book  and  sat  down 
at  the  table.  Jack  got  on  his  feet  and  came 
over  to  me. 

"Cis,  I  can't  accept  it,  really,"  he  said,  lay- 
ing his  all  but  transparent  hand  on  the  open 
cheque-book. 

"Nonsense,"  I  said,  looking  up.  "Between 
us,  what  does  it  matter?  Now,  my  dear  boy, 
do  be  sensible.  Fifty  pounds  is  nothing, 
either  way.  I  hope  you  won't  be  unkind 
enough  to  refuse  it." 

I  dragged  the  book  from  under  his  hand 
and  wrote  the  cheque,  tore  it  out,  and  slipped 
it  into  his  breast-pocket  as  he  leaned  across  the 

199 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

table  facing  me.  Then  I  put  the  cheque-book 
back  out  of  sight  before  I  called  Theodora 
over  to  us,  to  set  him  more  at  his  ease. 

"Theodore,  you  would  not  mind  going  back 
to  the  ship,  would  you,  and  seeing  the  captain 
and  getting  off  our  luggage,  or  will  all  that 
be  too  much  for  you?"  I  said,  looking  at  my 
watch.  "I  would  go,  but  I  must  get  Jack  to 
show  me  his  work." 

"Oh,  yes,  I'll  go,"  Theodora  answered. 
"Bring  the  things  back  here,  eh?" 

Jack  turned  to  Theodora  with  the  nervous 
flush  deepening  all  over  his  face  and  held  out 
his  hand.  "Cecil  says  I  owe  this  to  you  as 
much  as  himself.  All  I  can  say  is,  it's  most 
awfully  good  of  you  both." 

Theodora  laughed  gaily  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  "Oh,  you  must  not  thank  me.  It 
is  his  doing,"  she  said. 

They  shook  hands  warmly,  and  she  went  out. 
The  transfer  of  passengers  and  baggage  was 
soon  made.  It  is  surprising  how  easy  every- 
thing is  to  manage,  provided  only  one  is  ready 
with  unlimited  tips  and  bestows  them  freely  on 
all  sides.  By  seven,  before  any  of  the  passen- 
gers had  risen,  Theodora  and  I  stood  upon 
the  flat,  dirty  sand  of  the  canal  bank  and 
watched  our  ship,  with  Jack  leaning  against 

200 


the  deck  rail,  steam  slowly  out  of  Port  Said. 
As  we  both  raised  our  hats  in  a  final  salute 
and  turned  back  towards  one  of  the  cafes  for 
a  cup  of  coffee,  not  the  faintest  presage  of 
ill-fortune  was  near  either  of  use.  We  both 
felt  in  the  best  of  spirits. 

"What  a  sell  for  all  those  pretty  girls  on 
board  when  they  find  they  have  left  you  be- 
hind, Cecil!  I  am  sure  they  thought  you 
would  succumb  to  one  of  them  in  the  end," 
Theodora  said,  laughing,  as  we  were  sitting 
in  front  of  a  cafe  facing  the  canal. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  I  said,  raising  my  eye- 
brows. "I  fancy  it  is  you  whom  they  will  re- 
gret the  most !" 

Our  quarters  at  the  agency  were  anything 
but  first-rate,  and  I  could  not  help  some  stray, 
longing  regrets  after  my  comfortable,  hun- 
dred guinea,  four  berth  cabin.  Theodora, 
however,  would  not  make  the  shadow  of  a  com- 
plaint against  anything  that  had  resulted  from 
our  change  of  plans,  and  with  her  figure  mov- 
ing in  them  and  her  brilliant  face  and  voice 
seeming  to  fill  them,  I  became  resigned  to  the 
small,  hot,  dusty  rooms.  Our  life  for  the  next 
few  weeks  at  Port  Said  was  just  such  as  one 
would  foretell  the  lif e  to  be  of  two  individuals 
in  the  first  days  of  their  passion  for  each  other, 

201 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

who  were  sincere  and  ardent  pleasure-seekers, 
unfettered  bjr  any  prejudices,  unweighted  by 
any  other  ties,  absolutely  masters  of  them- 
selves, with  nothing  but  the  lightest  duties, 
entirely  independent  of  any  claim  or  considera- 
tion outside  their  own  will  of  the  hour,  removed 
from  outsiders,  and  only  holding  them- 
selves responsible  to  each  other  for  their  ac- 
tions. The  result  of  this  state  would  be  more 
difficult  to  foretell,  and  would  vary  directly 
with  the  two  individuals  themselves.  Accord- 
ing to  their  natures,  it  might  be  satiety,  dis- 
content, degeneration,  and  a  thousand  other 
things.  With  us  the  gross  result  was  the 
maximum  of  enjoyment  that  two  human  be- 
ings can  supply  to  each  other,  and  the  net  re- 
sult was  the  highest  degree  of  pleasure  to  both. 
At  the  same  time,  it  does  not  at  all  follow 
that  any  two  persons  in  our  relations,  and 
under  our  circumstances,  should  have  attained 
this.  On  the  contrary,  as  I  have  said,  many, 
perhaps  most  people,  would  have  found  such 
a  state  end  in  misery  at  the  worst,  at  the  best 
in  disgust. 

Pleasure,  the  pursuit  and  preservation  of  it, 
is  an  art  like  any  other.  To  enjoy  living  and 
the  gifts  of  life  perfectly  needs  an  apprentice- 
ship, previous  practice,  and  natural  talents 

202 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

thereto,  just  like  any  other  trade,  profession, 
or  calling.  It  requires  a  certain  training,  as 
much  so  as  bearing  sorrow,  enduring  pain,  be- 
ing virtuous,  and  the  like.  It  is  quite  a  mis- 
take to  suppose  that  a  man  taken  suddenly 
from  sad  circumstances  and  placed,  free  from 
any  present  trouble,  under  pleasure-giving 
conditions,  will  feel  and  be  capable  of  feeling 
more  satisfaction  than  a  sunny-hearted  indi- 
vidual accustomed  to  pleasure  and  versed  in 
her  ways.  On  the  contrary,  all  sorrow  leaves 
an  ineradicable  scar,  and  a  long  course  of  it 
eventually  totally  destroys  the  power  to  enjoy. 
Everything,  if  practised,  becomes  a  habit,  and 
nothing  more  thoroughly  so  than  suffering  or 
enjoying,  and  our  temperament  and  all  our 
capacities  mould  themselves  to  it,  and  what- 
ever breaks  in  upon  this  habit  and  calls  us  into 
a  state  for  which  our  temperament  and  capaci- 
ties have  grown  unfitted  is  poorly  and  ineffi- 
ciently carried  out.  The  man  whose  habit  is 
work  cannot  enjoy  idleness  for  more  than  the 
shortest  possible  time.  It  genes  him  far  more 
quickly  than  the  professed  idler  who  gets 
through  day  upon  day  of  it  with  the  greatest 
ease.  Similarly,  the  man  whose  habit  is  gloom, 
whose  life  has  been,  though  it  may  not  still 
be  melancholy,  is  unable  to  find,  see,  or  taste 

203 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

amusement  and  diversion  in  the  thousand  and 
one  things  which  gives  keen  satisfaction  to  the 
born  and  bred  pleasurist.  The  man  of  gloom 
lacks  practice;  his  eye,  from  want  of  use  and 
opportunity  hitherto,  cannot  descry  pleasure, 
lightly  veiled  in  circumstances,  though  it  is  at 
his  side.  He  would  not  know  how  to 
extract  it  or  woo  it  forth,  if  he  did  descry  it; 
he  knows  no  methods.  Could  he  descry  it  and 
extract  it,  he  then  would  not  know  how  to  en- 
hance it,  how  to  dress  it  to  his  own  particular 
taste.  Finally,  supposing  by  any  chance  he 
could  descry,  extract,  and  dress  his  pleasure, 
then  still  the  great  power  would  be  wanting — 
he  could  not  taste  nor  appreciate  it;  he  is  not 
a  connoisseur.  His  own  capacity,  for  want  of 
training,  is  absent.  Is  there  capacity  in  the 
farm  labourer's  palate  to  appreciate  delicate 
wine? 

For  myself,  I  was  skilled  in  the  art  of 
pleasure — a  master  in  the  profession  of  enjoy- 
ing life.  In  my  own  life  I  had  had  no  par- 
ticular duties;  no  opportunities  hardly,  cer- 
tainly no  necessities  for  doing  anything  but 
providing  my  own  amusement.  I  had  had  mo- 
ments of  great  grief,  despair,  and  agony,  but 
still  the  habit  of  my  mind  was  gaiety  and  the 
habit  of  my  life  ease.  And  being  accustomed 

204 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

to  both,  I  was  adapted  to  both.  Moreover,  I 
was  accustomed  to  my  present  relations  with 
Theodora,  for  I  had  stood  in  them  before  to 
other  women,  as  loved,  though  not  more  loved 
than  she. 

It  is  extremely  foolish  for  a  woman  to  wish 
—if,  indeed,  she  ever  does,  at  any  rate  such  I 
believe  is  the  idea — to  be  a  man's  first  love. 
A  first  love  is  generally  some  poor  butterfly 
upon  which  a  man  tries  his  raw  and  'prentice 
hand,  with  results  disastrous  in  the  end,  and 
painful  in  their  evolution.  Also  he  himself, 
through  his  blundering  inexperience,  often  se- 
cures but  the  minimum  of  personal  pleasure, 
and  his  whole  retrospect  of  the  affair  is  full  of 
shame  and  irritation.  The  woman  who  comes 
fifth  or  sixth  at  least  should  be  thankful  to 
the  order  of  her  coming.  Her  lover  has  by 
this  time  gained  tact  and  dexterity  in  managing 
the  whole  delicate,  intricate,  complicated  ma- 
chinery of  love,  and  she  has  the  benefit  of  that 
perfection  of  touch,  that  power  to  wield  a  pas- 
sion, so  that  it  shall  bring  us  the  greatest  pos- 
sible pleasure  at  the  lowest  possible  price,  in 
the  attainment  of  which  the  other  poor,  pre- 
ceding butterflies  have  been  incidentally  and 
unwittingly  crushed. 

Love  is  essentially  a  thing  that  requires  the 

205 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

help  of  art.  To  talk  of  two  young  beings  en- 
joying their  first  love,  and  to  imagine  Nature 
as  a  guide  who  will  crown  their  love  with 
pleasure,  is  sentimental  and  pretty,  but  errone- 
ous. The  two  young  beings  generally  secure 
for  themselves  very  little  satisfaction  out  of 
it,  as  indeed  one  might  expect,  since  Nature 
has  little  consideration  for  individuals  and 
their  pleasure.  Her  interests  are  vested  in 
the  race,  and  to  individuals  she  is  but  an  ignis- 
fatuus.  If  they  will  follow  her  blindly,  they 
must  infallibly  find  themselves  sooner  or  later 
in  the  swamp  of  disappointment.  Our  brains 
are  given  us  to  defend  and  protect  our  per- 
sonal interests  and  supply  our  personal 
pleasures,  which  she  would  ruthlessly  push 
aside.  In  everything  man  must  supplement 
Nature  by  his  brain  before  his  own  satisfaction 
begins.  Nature's  bed  is  mother  earth,  the 
breast  of  a  damp  and  open  field,  but  man 
positively  prefers  his  eider-down  and  linen. 
Nature's  food  is  the  berry  on  the  hedge  and 
the  water  in  the  brook,  but  man's  pleasure  is 
in  caviar  and  champagne.  Why  then,  in  love, 
should  we  suppose  for  an  instant  that  Nature's 
primitive  instinct  in  its  simplest  form  can  rival 
that  same  instinct  when  moulded  and  fashioned 
and  polished  by  art  and  brought  up  through 

206 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

countless  and  minute  evolutions  to  that  arti- 
ficial, complex,  and  ecstatic  passion  it  can  be 
in  experienced  hands? 

This  was  the  passion  I  could  give  to  Theo- 
dora. She  profited  by  my  past  errors,  which 
I  now  knew  how  to  avoid.  In  addition  to  this 
advantage,  past  experience  reduces  one's  ex- 
actingness. 

A  pleasurist  must  be  more  or  less  a  phi- 
losopher. Philosophy  is  a  side  branch  of  his 
profession  of  enjoying:  he  gets  to  know  the 
worth  of  pleasure,  the  length  of  its  duration, 
its  inevitable  reactions.  Consequently  none  of 
these  things  shock  him  and  shatter  the  consti- 
tution of  his  love  as  they  do  that  of  the  tyro's. 
Knowing  the  exact  worth  of  each  satisfaction 
before  he  takes  it,  he  has  no  disappointment 
after.  Aware  of  its  integral  transitoriness,  he 
feels  no  despair  as  it  dies  away.  Familiar 
with  the  unavoidable  reaction,  he  waits  pa- 
tiently for  the,  as  certain,  recrudescence. 

The  one  great  cause  of  the  smoothness  and 
ease  of  our  relations  was  that  I  never  expected 
impossibilities  from  Theodora.  Her  mental 
and  physical  weaknesses  could  not  irritate  nor 
annoy  me.  I  had  anticipated  them  from  the 
beginning,  and  knew  they  were  inevitable. 
Therefore  they  had  no  power  to  surprise  nor 

207 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

anger.  It  was  no  effort  to  me  to  be  lenient  to 
them  and  overlook  them.  Similarly,  with  our 
passion  itself,  I  never  looked  for  it  to  bring 
unvarying  satisfaction.  In  the  very  kernel  of 
all  passions  are  those  qualities,  the  effects  of 
which  no  art,  no  skill,  no  experience  can  wholly 
circumvent.  Moments  of  tedium,  irritation, 
reaction,  revolt,  for  these  there  is  no  palliative 
but  a  smiling  philosophy.  It  is  useless  to  re- 
venge ourselves  for  them  upon  our  companion, 
who  is  no  more  responsible  for  them  than  we 
are. 

Theodora  in  all  this  time  had  glorious  health, 
and  I  took  care  that  she  should  keep  it.  And 
side  by  side  with  the  health  and  vigour  that 
flowed  through  all  the  splendid,  elastic,  glow- 
ing frame,  kept  pace  her  inexhaustible  gaiety 
and  good  spirits.  Our  life  itself  was  pretty 
simple.  Husmatrai,  Jack's  servant,  brought 
us  our  breakfast  somewhere  between  ten  and 
eleven.  From  then  till  four  the  work  of  the 
agency  occupied  me,  or  at  least  supplied  the 
necessity  for  my  presence  in  the  office.  Dur- 
ing those  hours  Theodora  would  sit  in  some 
corner  near  me,  reading  anything  that  came 
to  hand,  from  Studies  in  Coptic  to  Zola's  last. 
At  four,  coffee  and  cigars,  a  game  of  billiards, 
or  a  chat  with  other  fellows  who  looked  in. 

208 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

We  dined  at  six.  After  that  our  horses  were 
brought  round — hired  animals,  but  passable— 
and  the  rest  of  the  evening  and  half  the  night 
we  spent  in  the  saddle;  of  course  not  invari- 
ably, but  often,  for  the  nights  were  tolerably 
cool  and  always  brilliant  after  the  suffocating 
dusty  day.  When  disinclined  to  ride,  we 
would  go  down  on  foot  to  the  native  town  and 
ransack  it  from  end  to  end  in  search  of  some 
amusement,  which  we  generally  managed  to 
unearth  in  some  form  or  other. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  I  received  a  boy- 
ish, enthusiastic  letter  from  Jack.  He  was 
cured,  he  was  well.  I  had  saved  his  life,  and 
so  on.  In  answer  I  wrote  telling  him  to  stay 
and  confirm  the  improvement.  And  our  life 
in  Port  Said  flowed  on,  another  easy  period. 
Then  the  <#>0ovo«  0ewv  we  had  jested  over  in  our 
first  interview  was  realised.  The  envious 
gods  struck  their  blow.  It  crashed  in  upon 
me  with  terrific  suddenness,  bringing  the  bitter- 
est moments  of  my  life  hard  in  upon  the  sweet- 
est. I  had  written  again  to  Jack,  giving  him 
permission  to  stay  if  he  pleased,  and  the  means 
of  doing  so.  The  return  mail  from  Aden 
brought  me  a  letter  from  him  returning  the 
last  cheque,  and  announcing  that  his  passage 
was  taken  and  he  would  be  back  at  the  end  of 

209 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

the  week.  I  tossed  the  letter  over  to  Theodora 
when  I  had  read  it,  with  the  remark  that  we 
had  better  be  ready  to  leave  on  the  day  he 
arrived.  The  same  evening  we  went  down 
after  dinner  to  the  native  city,  seeking  what 
we  might  devour  in  the  way  of  diversion.  It 
was  a  hot,  breathless  night,  yet  not  so  hot  but 
that  I  drew  my  companion's  arm  through 
mine,  and  felt  it  lean  there  with  pleasure. 
The  place  seemed  unusually  quiet  this  evening. 
We  found  nothing  to  amuse  us,  and  after  a 
short  stroll  we  turned  and  went  back  through 
the  city  towards  the  canal.  It  was  just  a  mere 
chance  that,  as  we  were  passing  one  of  the 
last  native  buildings,  a  burst  of  tom-tom-ing 
reached  us  and  caught  Theodora's  attention. 

"That  is  the  house  it  comes  from,  Cecil. 
Let  us  see  what  they  are  doing." 

I  looked  over  the  house.  It  was  a  square, 
white,  flat-roofed  building,  windowless  in 
front,  except  for  a  few  slits  with  rusty  bars 
across.  There  was  one  door  which  seemed  to 
open  into  an  impenetrably  dark  passage  be- 
yond; over  it  flared  a  single  oil-lamp  swung  on 
a  stick,  and  some  natives  lounged  at  the  mouth 
of  the  passage. 

"I  am  sure  the  sound  comes  from  the  back 
there,  and  do  you  hear  the  laughing,  too?" 

210 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

Theodora  said.  "Do  let's  see  if  we  can  go  in, 
too!" 

"I  think  we  had  better  not,"  I  answered. 
"Somehow  I  don't  like  the  shut-up  look  of  the 
place." 

"Oh,  that  is  probably  only  to  avoid  inter- 
ference from  the  authorities.  I  think  the 
house  is  all  right.  One  never  sees  anything 
if  one  is  afraid  of  everything.  Do,  Cecil,  ask 
them  if  we  can  go  in.  Do,  please." 

She  pressed  my  arm  and  wrist  close  into  her 
soft  side  and  looked  up  at  me,  all  the  tender 
caressingness  she  was  such  a  mistress  of 
thrown  into  the  handsome  face.  Now,  I  am 
always  hopelessly,  deplorably  weak  where  the 
pleasure  of  another  is  concerned,  and  terribly 
open  to  the  influence  of  an  appealing  voice 
and  seducing  touch.  I  cannot  boast  of  that 
rigid  inflexibility  of  dogmatic  will  towards 
others  which  many  men  think  the  proper  thing 
to  profess  and  possess.  At  the  same  time,  it 
is  to  this  weakness  that  I  have  owed  chiefly, 
I  believe,  my  success  as  a  lover.  The  loved 
ones  can  tell  quite  well  the  sort  of  man  with 
whom  they  will  be  likely  to  lead  an  easy  ex- 
istence. Intolerant  myself  of  the  least  inter- 
ference with  my  own  will,  I  avoid,  from  a  sort 
of  fellow-feeling,  trying  to  control,  even  where 

211 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

I  have  the  power,  the  wills  of  others.  Besides, 
to  be  frank  I  was  in  the  mood  just  then  in 
which  I  could  not  have  denied  her  anything. 
She  saw  it  directly,  and  tightening  her  arm  in 
mine  she  drew  me  over  towards  the  door.  I 
spoke  to  the  Arabic-Egyptian  boys  standing 
there.  No,  it  was  not  a  public  entertainment ; 
it  was  quite  private.  There  was  no  means  of 
admission  except  by  certain  what  they  called 
"tikkats,"  which  had  been  distributed  seem- 
ingly by  some  indefinite  person  to  other  in- 
definite persons  previously.  We  had  no  "tik- 
kats"? Then  by  no  possibility  could  we  come 
in.  I  would  have  turned  away  on  this  pre- 
text, but  Theodora's  eyes  flashed  upon  me  pro- 
vokingly,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Not  a  single  kiss 
shall  you  have  to-night  if  you  don't  exert  your- 
self more  to  please  me."  So  I  turned  again 
to  the  boy,  gave  him  a  fifty  piastre  gold  piece 
and  told  him  to  procure  "tikkats,"  or  let  us  in 
somehow.  But  he  hesitated,  not  in  taking  the 
gold  piece,  but  in  letting  us  in,  and  mumbled 
something  to  his  companions  about  the  police. 

"Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  I  said.  "We  are  not 
police.  I  am  a  company's  agent  here  in  the 
place  of  Mr.  Gaisford." 

At  Jack's  name  the  polished  countenance  of 
the  Egyptian  lighted  up  with  pleasure,  and  in 

212 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

his  enthusiasm  he  broke  from  the  Arabic  we 
had  been  speaking  into  English. 

"Gaisford  sahib?  Orr  right;  orr  right. 
Me  know  Gaisford.  Jolly  good  chap !  Dear 
ole  feller!  Often  come  here!" 

I  raised  my  eyebrows  and  looked  at  Theo- 
dora with  a  laugh. 

"So  that  is  the  way  friend  Jack  gets  through 
his  money,"  I  said  to  her,  and  then  to  the  boy, 
"Well,  never  mind  about  Gaisford  sahib.  If 
it's  'orr  right,'  let  us  in." 

"First  let  master  know.  You  wait,"  he  re- 
turned, and  sidled  away  down  the  passage  with 
a  grin. 

"I  wonder  what's  on,"  I  said  to  Theodora 
while  we  waited.  "Some  dancing,  I  suppose, 
by  the  tom-toms.  Poor  Jack!  no  wonder  he 
tries  to  amuse  himself.  It  must  be  dull  work 
to  live  here  alone." 

After  a  minute  a  stately,  portly  Egyptian 
came  down  the  passage.  He  explained  with 
profound  salaams  and  great  courtliness  that 
there  was  no  sort  of  entertainment,  and  posi- 
tively no  question  of  payment.  That  there 
was  simply  a  little  dance,  which  was  generally 
much  appreciated  by  the  gentlemen,  and  to 
witness  which  he  had  invited  some  few  per- 
sonal friends.  We  were  certainly  welcome  to 

213 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

make  two  of  the  audience,  and  free  to  bestow 
upon  the  dancer  anything  we  pleased  if  he 
were  so  fortunate  as  to  find  favour  in  our 
honoured  eyes. 

"Oh,  very  good;  I  quite  understand,"  I  said 
when  we  had  heard  this  formula,  which  was 
doubtless  repeated  to  each  stray  unit  of  the 
public  who  sought  admission;  and  then  we 
followed  him  down  the  passage. 

At  the  end  of  it  ran  up  a  few  wooden  stairs, 
which  we  ascended,  the  noise  of  the  tom-toms 
growing  more  distinct  every  minute,  and  the 
sound  of  applause  more  defined.  Our  host 
pushed  open  some  door  in  the  darkness,  and 
we  entered  an  upper,  back,  and  windowless 
room.  The  ceiling  was  very  low,  almost  on 
our  heads.  The  air  was  clouded  with  smoke, 
the  light  so  dim  that  we  could  only  just  discern 
the  indistinguishable  forms  of  men  sitting 
about  on  low  benches  or  cushions,  and  we  were 
led  principally  to  know  they  were  there  by  the 
murmur  of  applause  going  up  on  all  sides. 
At  one  end  of  the  room  was  stretched  a  crim- 
son carpet,  and  on  it  was  dancing  a  single  fig- 
ure, that  of  a  youth  of  about  seventeen.  The 
light  from  >a  dozen  lamps  completely  dark  on 
all  sides  next  the  audience  was  wholly  flung 
on  the  dancer.  I  heard  Theodora  draw  in  her 

214 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

breath  as  she  looked.  "Oh,  Cecil,  how  lovely! 
What  grace!  I  have  never  seen  anything  like 
it  before."  I  laughed.  So  long  as  she  was 
satisfied  that  was  the  main  point.  And  I  led 
her  carefully  amongst  the  benches  and  the 
squatting  Egyptians  to  a  front  place.  We  sat 
down  here  on  a  low  bench,  just  in  front  of  the 
scarlet  cloth.  Theodora  left  her  arm  in  mine, 
and  her  hand  lay  upon  my  wrist  and  pressed 
it  every  now  and  then  in  a  sort  of  enthusiasm 
as  her  eyes  followed  the  movements  of  the 
supple  and  exquisitely  symmetrical  form  be- 
fore us.  We  had  entered  near  the  termination 
of  what  one  may  call  a  figure,  and  after  a  few 
seconds  the  tom-toms  ceased,  and  the  dancer 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  carpet,  his  smooth 
breast  and  throat  heaving  so  that  the  chains 
and  ornaments  upon  it  jingled,  and  each  limb 
quivering  visibly  with  the  strain.  He  was  evi- 
dently a  Levantine,  white-skinned,  and  of  the 
true,  supple,  slender  type.  As  he  stood  there 
with  flushed  face,  and  panting  chest,  and 
elated  eyes  before  us,  a  storm  of  commenda- 
tion rose  from  every  side  of  the  room,  and 
handfuls  of  bronze  and  silver  piastre  pieces 
fell  on  the  red  cloth.  Then  he  signified  his 
intention  of  recommencing.  A  hush  fell  on 
the  room,  and  in  a  fascinated  silence  the  men 

215 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

were  held  soundless  watching  him.  Such  a 
dance,  from  its  daring  and  ingenuity,  from  the 
marvellous  agility  and  flexibility  that  it  de- 
manded, from  the  palpable  strain  and  tension 
it  put  upon  the  powers  of  the  human  frame, 
must  in  itself  have  held  the  human  eye  excited 
and  entranced,  and  here  the  singular  beauty 
of  the  exponent  rendered  the  excitement  de- 
lirious, intoxicated.  The  men  pressed  round  us 
as  they  closed  in  nearer  the  scarlet  cloth,  breath 
was  indrawn,  men  scrambled  up  on  our  bench 
and  lunged  against  us  in  the  darkness.  I  re- 
member distinctly  every  second,  every  sensa- 
tion of  those  last  minutes  of  pleasure  that  pre- 
ceded the  horrible  afterwards. 

"You  are  pleased,  darling?"  I  murmured  to 
her. 

"Oh  yes,  it's  divine!"  she  whispered  back  in 
her  excited  way. 

The  tension  in  the  onlookers  became  acute 
as  the  dance  went  on.  The  youth  and  beauty 
of  the  dancer  roused  us  all,  and  a  half  shud- 
der of  sympathetic  physical  excitement  passed 
through  the  room.  Furious  cries  of  "Bis,  bis" 
came  from  all  sides  of  it  if  the  movements 
seemed  flagging  towards  cessation.  Gold 
piastre  bits  rained  on  to  the  vermilion  square. 
I  myself  caught  the  enthusiasm  and  shouted 

216 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"Bis,  bis"  strenuously  with  the  rest.  I  flung 
my  last  handful  of  piastres  towards  his  feet. 
They  were  chiefly  silver  coins,  and  as  I  had  no 
more  gold  with  me  I  drew  off  a  ring  and  threw 
it  into  the  circle  of  lamplight.  Each  time  he 
attempted  to  pause  we  encouraged  him  with 
fresh  shouts,  and  each  new  effort  was  watched 
in  a  tense  and  frenzied  silence.  It  was  evident, 
all  the  same,  that  the  dance  could  not  continue 
much  longer  without  a  break.  We  could  see 
the  sweat  gleam  on  the  dancer's  throat,  where 
the  veins  were  swelling  into  blue  cords  as  he 
bent  his  smooth  boneless  body  double,  back- 
wards till  the  head  rested  on  the  ground.  He 
could  not  respond  any  longer  to  the  eager, 
disappointed,  and  brutal  shouts  that  urged 
him.  A  pallor  suddenly  overspread  his  face, 
in  spite  of  the  paint  upon  it.  He  staggered, 
quivered,  and  then  fell  senseless  on  his  face. 
The  clamor  in  the  room  was  deafening,  and 
a  rush  was  made  towards  the  lamps.  Two  or 
three  Egyptians  from  an  inner  door,  to  whom 
I  suppose  he  belonged,  picked  him  up  and  car- 
ried him  away,  and  raised  the  carpet,  literally 
covered  with  coins,  by  the  four  corners. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  confusion  in  the 
semi-darkness.  All  the  men  talked  excitedly 
together,  some  scrambled  over  the  benches  and 

217 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

went  out :  the  room  cleared  rapidly.  I  looked 
at  Theodora.  Her  face  was  pale,  and  the  tears 
shone  in  her  eyes;  she  leaned  her  head  on  my 
shoulder  with  a  burst  of  excited  sobs.  My 
own  feelings  were  roused  by  all  that  had  just 
been  passing  before  our  eyes,  my  own  brain 
stimulated,  and  with  this  lovely  and  loved 
thing  beside  me  a  sudden  impulse  stirred  in  all 
my  disordered  senses.  I  put  my  arm  round 
her  and  leaned  over  her  and  kissed  her.  It 
was  a  foolish,  incautious  thing  to  do  in  our 
position,  and  at  such  a  time  and  place.  The 
next  minute  I  knew  it.  I  looked  up.  Our 
Egyptian  host  was  beside  us.  I  saw  him 
watching  us  through  the  gloom.  As  he  met 
my  eyes  he  drew  back  and  disappeared.  I 
glanced  round  us.  In  the  dim,  smoky  room 
there  were  now  only  a  few  Egyptians,  and 
they  were  going  out  stealthily  like  cats.  We 
were  being  left  alone.  It  was  uncanny.  A 
vague,  undefined  apprehension  came  upon  me. 

"I  think  these  fellows  mean  mischief,  Theo- 
dora," I  said  suddenly,  as  I  watched  them 
disappear.  "We  had  better  go." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Theodora;  "it's  all  right. 
Take  your  arm  away.  Of  course,  if  you  will 
go  on  spooning  me,  we  attract  attention. 
That's  all." 

218 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"It  is  not  all,"  I  insisted.  "I  feel  sure  there 
is  something  wrong.  Come — you  must  come" 
— and  I  got  up  hastily  and  laid  my  hand  on 
her  shoulder. 

"What  a  fellow  you  are,  Cecil!"  she  an- 
swered, looking  up  with  a  smile. 

However,  she  got  up,  and  we  made  our  way 
out  from  amongst  the  benches  unhindered.  We 
cached  the  head  of  the  little  wooden  staircase 
and  stumbled  down  to  the  passage  where  we 
had  entered,  and  by  the  light  of  the  tin  oil- 
lamp  flaring  against  the  wall  we  saw  that  the 
door  was  no  longer  open,  but  shut. 

The  red  painted  wood  shut  out  the  dark 
square  of  midnight  sky,  and  four  massive- 
limbed  Egyptians  lounged  with  their  backs 
against  it,  bending  against  their  hips  their 
Port  Said  knives.  Involuntarily  our  feet 
stopped,  chained  at  the  lowest  stair.  Theo- 
dora was  just  behind  me.  I  glanced  at 
her,  and  saw  she  had  read  the  situation. 
"Trapped,"  she  said  laconically,  without  a 
change  of  colour.  Unconsciously  my  hand 
Trent  to  seek  my  revolver.  Theodora  noted 
*he  action  and  seized  my  arm. 

"It's  folly,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "Two 
against  four,  and  forty  more  behind.  For 
God's  sake,  don't  show  the  revolver;  they  will 

219 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

simply  cut  us  down.  Besides,  we  may  want 
it  for  ourselves  later  on." 

Even  in  that  moment  a  throb  of  admiration 
went  through  me  dully  at  her  words — so  cool, 
so  careless,  so  indifferent,  so  un  feminine,  as 
always. 

"Speak  to  them.  No  insult,  no  force. 
Bribery,  conciliation.  Our  lives  are  in  our 
tongues,  Cecil,"  and  she  laughed. 

As  for  me,  my  blood  seemed  freezing  in  my 
veins.  I  had  a  pretty  clear  presage  of  what 
was  coming. 

"Unbar  the  door,"  I  said  to  the  nearest 
Egyptian. 

He  drew  his  knife  from  his  hip  and  held 
it  idly,  point  towards  his  shoulder.  The 
slightest  turn  of  his  wrist  now,  the  least  im- 
petus, would  have  brought  the  curved  blade 
whirling  to  my  throat. 

"The  order  has  been  given  to  detain  you," 
he  answered,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  Theo- 
dora. 

"What  for?"  I  asked  quietly. 

"You  may  go  if  you  please,  but  your  com- 
panion remains  with  us,"  he  returned. 

Theodora  stood  silent  beside  me.  The  other 
Egyptians  stood  silent,  impassive,  looking 
on. 

220 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"But  why?"  I  asked  in  my  calmest  voice, 
feeling  every  drop  of  Saxon  blood  in  my  body 
turn  into  boiling  lava  with  fury  and  revolted 
loathing  and  rage.  I  knew,  I  knew  all  al- 
ready. Why  did  I  not  turn  and  shoot  her 
then? 

"Our  master  is  very  sick,  and  he  hears  that 
he,"  and  he  pointed  an  authoritative  finger  at 
Theodora,  "cures  sick  people.  He  wants  him 
to  stay  and  cure  him." 

"You  infernal  liar!"  I  said,  unheeding 
Theodora's  appealing  hand  on  my  arm.  "You 
know  your  master  is  not  sick.  Unbar  the 
door  for  us.  We  represent  a  Government, 
though  we  are  only  two.  Your  whole  house 
can  be  razed  to-morrow  if  you  detain  us  against 
our  will." 

The  Egyptian  looked  at  me  and  then  at  the 
cornice  above  his  head,  playing  with  the  handle 
of  his  knife  in  silence.  He  neither  stirred  nor 
answered.  Theodora  stepped  forward  and 
laid  her  hand  with  a  supplicating  gesture  on 
his  sash — the  scarlet  roll  of  silk  knotted  above 
his  hips.  I  sickened  as  I  saw  her. 

"Where  is  your  master?"  she  said,  in  the 
same  soft  voice  she  used  to  her  lover.  "Is 
he  very  ill?  How  long  do  you  want  me  to 
stay?" 

221 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

The  Egyptian  looked  down  upon  her  gra- 
ciously. 

"We  would  entertain  you  for  a  week.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  you  are  free  to  go  whither 
you  will.  Meanwhile,  your  friend  may  go; 
we  have  no  need  of  him.  At  the  same  time, 
let  him  remember,"  and  he  looked  at  me  over 
Theodora's  shoulder,  upon  which  he  laid  his 
hand,  "if  he  appeals  to  his  Government,  and 
tries  to  rescue  you  during  that  time,  your  life 
pays  forfeit.  In  your  blood  he  razes  this 
house." 

Theodora  nodded.  Her  calmness  was  un- 
broken— her  face  like  a  stone  mask. 

"And  you  would  let  him  go?  Now?  At 
once?"  she  said;  "and  myself  at  the  end  of  the 
week?" 

"As  there  is  one  God  and  no  other." 

We  spoke  to  the  man  in  his  dialect. 

Theodora  now  turned  to  me  and  said  in 
English,  "Cecil,  there  is  no  help  for  it.  You 
had  better  go  before  they  change  their  minds." 

"Theodora,  you  are  mad!"  I  said  des- 
perately, my  heart  seeming  to  fail  more  at  her 
words  than  those  even  of  the  Egyptian. 
"What  are  you  saying?  Leave  you  here! 
Don't  you  understand  what  they  mean?" 

Her  eyes  met  mine,  full  of  the  familiar 

222 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

light  and  power,  and  with  a  laugh  in  them. 

"Is  it  likely  that  I  don't  understand?"  she 
said.  "Of  course  I  understand.  But  I  also 
understand  the  situation.  What  terms  can 
we  make?  Look  here,  I  see  the  whole  thing. 
We  shall  not  be  able  to  move  these  men,  they 
are  rocks.  They  have  seen  you  kiss  me.  We 
have  betrayed  ourselves.  Nothing  now  will 
satisfy  them  but—  '  and  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  "or  our  lives." 

"Then  it  shall  be  our  lives,"  I  said  shortly, 
drawing  her  to  me  with  a  hand  she  could  not 
resist,  and  putting  the  other  to  my  side. 

Theodora  looked  past  me  at  the  Egyptian. 

"Give  us  a  few  minutes  in  private,"  she  said 
appealingly,  "and  I  will  persuade  him  to  leave 
me." 

The  Egyptian  silently  drew  aside  a  thick 
black  chick  that  swung  on  the  left  wall  of  the 
passage  and  revealed  a  small,  dimly-lighted 
room  beyond.  He  motioned  us  to  go  in,  and 
dropped  the  heavy  chick  behind  us.  The  mo- 
ment we  were  on  the  other  side  of  it  Theodora 
flung  her  arms  round  my  neck  in  a  wild  burst 
of  sobbing  tears. 

"Oh,  Cecil,  you  won't  kill  me,  surely?"  she 
pleaded,  and  I  felt  her  warm  tears  on  my  neck. 
"You  have  always  been  so  kind  to  me;  you 

223 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

won't  have  the  heart  to  do  it.     Think  what  it 
is  to  shoot  me!" 

She  had  her  own  soft,  small  hand  upon  mine 
that  held  the  revolver,  and  she  kissed  me  on 
the  mouth  between  her  words.  I  stood  mo- 
tionless, unmoved  by  her,  feeling  only  the  fury 
within  me.  In  those  moments  I  had  only  one 
instinct,  one  thought,  the  murderous  desire  to 
kill  her.  It  leaped  up  through  me,  pervaded 
me,  and  swayed  and  bent  my  whole  mind  and 
body,  involved  them  in  itself.  I  felt  no  ten- 
derness, no  pity,  no  remembrance  of  love. 
These  were  obliterated,  annihilated  in  the 
savage,  mindless,  brutal  lust  to  kill,  this  im- 
pulse which  lies  so  closely  curled  round  the 
roots  of  every  lover's  passion  that  only  our 
reason  divides  the  two.  I  longed  to  destroy 
her  now,  as  I  had  once  longed  to  possess  her, 
to  shatter  and  burst  those  eyeballs  and  blot 
out  their  light  for  ever,  to  lay  open  the  temples 
and  transform  them  into  a  shapeless  bleeding 
mass,  to  keep  her  mine  now  as  I  had  made  her 
mine  then.  To  check  those  quick  heart-beats, 
to  see  the  veins  drain  out  their  blood,  and  the 
whole  malleable  body  grow  damp  and  pulse- 
less, would  have  been  to  me  now  the  keenest, 
supremest  pleasure,  surpassing  even  the  ulti- 
mate moment  of  possession.  Theodora  saw  it 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

all  printed  upon  my  face,  and  she  clung  to 
hand  beside  herself  with  terror. 

"Speak  to  me,  Cecil." 

"You  value  your  life  above  your  honour, 
then?" 

"Infinitely,"  she  returned  cynically,  her  face 
pale  as  that  of  a  corpse  already,  and  her  eyes 
suddenly  blazing  with  mockery  and  contempt. 

"I  do  not,  then,"  I  said  in  a  low  tone,  my 
hand  clasping  tightly  the  revolver. 

"I  daresay!"  answered  Theodora,  and  the 
light,  scornful  tone  cut  through  my  brain  like 
a  knife.  "My  honour!  A  convenient  term 
for  the  preservation  to  yourself  and  your  own 
egotistical,  jealous,  tyrannical  passion,  of  this 
flesh  and  blood.  Think  what  our  life  has 
been!  Cecil,  you  accepted  me  for  your  own 
desires  as  Theodora;  you  can't  now,  for  those 
same  desires,  turn  me  into  a  Lucretia!" 

The  clear,  rapid  words  fell  upon  me  from 
those  pale,  scornful  lips  like  so  many  sword- 
strokes.  My  brain  seemed  to  rock  as  I  heard 
her.  Was  it  not  true  what  she  said?  Was 
it  anything  but  the  unsparing  truth  that  she 
stabbed  me  with?  What  was  this  instinct  to 
kill  her?  This  impulse  to  accept  death  for  us 
both  rather  than  another  should  touch  my 
property?  Was  it  noble?  was  it  pure? 

225 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

Rather  was  it  not,  as  she  said,  but  another 
development,  another  phase  of  the  passion  and 
the  desires  of  the  flesh.  Too  much,  too  much 
we  love  the  body  and  too  little  the  mind,  which 
cannot  be  defiled.  It  was  the  lithe  figure  and 
the  full  throat  and  the  flexible  hand  that  had 
struck  away  the  revolver;  it  was  these  things 
that  swayed  before  my  disordered  senses  and 
maddened  them.  Those  lips  that  I  had  known 
I  would  rather  see  mutilated  and  blackened, 
streaming  with  blood  from  my  own  hand,  than 
know  they  had  been  pressed,  smiling,  by  an- 
other. 

Is  this  a  lofty  and  honourable  instinct? 
Through  and  through  my  tortured  brain 
passed  like  lightning  the  scorching  questions. 
Yet  women  for  this  word  "honour"  have  been 
slain  over  and  over,  and  their  slayers  sung. 
But  what  is  it,  this  slaying,  but  a  gratification 
of  self?  My  fingers  quivered  on  the  revolver. 

"Theodora,  do  you  care  for  me  so  little  that 
you  can  submit — " 

"My  dearest  one!"  broke  in  Theodora,  the 
words  pouring  from  her  lips  in  a  passionate, 
unbroken  stream.  "I  care  for  you  so  much 
that  I  won't  throw  away  your  life  for  an  idea. 
Sacrifice  your  life  at  eighty-and-twenty  for  a 
woman's  honour!  Great  God,  what  is  honour? 

226 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

What  is  your  standard?  who  is  to  judge  be- 
tween us?  Have  we  not  long  ago  done  with 
all  laws  and  put  our  own  intellects  in  their 
place?  This  is  not  a  thing  of  choice,  it  is  ne- 
cessity. TO  x/j^v,  Cecil,  TO  XP^,"  and  her  fingers 
clenched  like  steel  upon  my  wrist.  "You 
know  I  care  for  you.  I  have  done  enough 
surely  in  proof-  Do  you  think  that  I  stay 
here  willingly?  It's  unworthy  of  us  both,  the 
thought.  The  degradation!  Bah!  we  shall 
both  survive.  You  know,  you  must  know,  I 
would  not  suffer  it  at  any  other  price  than 
this — our  lives.  Is  my  mind  and  my  soul 
and  my  will  that  they  cannot  touch — are  these 
nothing  to  you?  The  friend  and  the  comrade 
I  have  been  to  you,  you  will  throw  away,  be- 
cause you  are  asked  to  lend  the  mistress!  It 
will  be  agony,  Cecil,  to  let  you  go  and  to  re- 
main here,  but  there  will  be  hope,  certainty  of 
re-union  with  you.  If  you  kill  me,  all  is  over. 
There  can  be  no  union  for  us  amongst  the 
dust  and  worms.  Think!  There  is  no  here- 
after !  Death  is  only  the  coward's  refuge.  I 
would  rather  meet  what  is  to  be  met.  I  would 
rather  live  and  endure  and  come  out  of  this 
den  into  life  again  than  drag  you  with  me  into 
a  grave.  Still  if  you  wish — shoot!"  and  she 
raised  my  hand  and  the  revolver,  on  a  level 

227 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

with  her  mouth.  "Now,  murder  the  woman 
you  profess  to  love!  Come!"  she  said  mock- 
ingly. "Make  haste!  You  have  only  a  few 
minutes!"  as  I  stood  transfixed.  "You  have 
had  all  from  me.  Now  take  my  life !" 

In  that  horrible  moment  her  face  burned  it- 
self indelibly  into  my  brain.  Look  where  I 
will  now  in  my  sleepless  nights,  I  see  it  still. 
The  lips,  that  were  close  to  the  revolver's  muz- 
zle, wore  the  old  cynical,  reckless  smile.  The 
eyes,  full  of  their  male,  taunting,  unholy  fire, 
glanced  unflinchingly  down  the  barrel.  Her 
words  paralysed  me.  What  was  I  to  decide 
her  destiny?  Was  I  to  set  my  will  above  an- 
other human  being's?  What  right  had  I? 
Was  I  to  become  a  tyrant  simply  because  I 
had  been  a  lover?  I  had  had  all  from  Theo- 
dora. True,  but  all  had  been  given  me.  I 
had  asked,  and  she  had  granted.  I  had  never 
bent  or  broken  her  will  to  mine.  It  was  my 
nature  to  shrink  from  forcing  another,  and 
tyranny  of  any  kind  I  loathed. 

"No,"  I  said  mechanically,  "I  cannot  take 
it  if  you  will  not  give  it;"  and  I  slipped  the 
revolver  back  to  its  place. 

A  tremor,  a  sort  of  convulsion  passed  over 
Theodora's  frame,  and  she  threw  herself  into 
my  arms.  All  her  body  burned  against  me, 

228 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

as  we  strained  each  other,  breast  to  breast,  her 
hands  clasped  my  throat  like  bands  of  hot  iron, 
her  lips  on  mine  seemed  drawing  out  the  life. 
It  was  a  passionate,  fearful  embrace,  that 
clings  to  me  -still  in  my  dreams. 

"Kiss  me.     It  is  the  last  time." 

And  I  kissed  her.  Better,  infinitely,  to 
have  passed  from  that  frenzy  into  death,  if  she 
would  but  have  consented.  What  does  it  mat- 
ter when  one  has  lived  whether  it  be  two  or 
twrenty  years,  twenty  or  forty? 

The  chick  at  the  side  of  the  room  was  burst 
aside  before  I  had  released  her.  The  men, 
some  nine  of  them,  pressed  into  it. 

My  arms  sank  like  stone.  My  own  instincts 
were  beaten  down,  as  they  had  been  before, 
many  times  for  her  sake.  I  set  her  free.  The 
precious  moments  in  which  we  might  have  se- 
cured our  release  had  gone.  I  had  conquered 
myself,  and  we  both  lived  to  suffer.  Four  of 
the  men  seized  my  arms  and  led  me  to  the 
door.  Five  of  them  closed  round  Theo- 
dora. 

"Cecil,"  her  voice  came  to  me  full  of  an  in- 
tolerable anguish,  "good — " 

The  word  perhaps  was  "Good-bye,"  but  the 
last  syllable  never  reached  my  ears.  It  was 
cut  short  at  her  lips,  whether  by  a  kiss  or  a 

229 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

blow  I  could  not  say.  But  that  appeal  to  me 
sent  a  superhuman  strength  through  me.  The 
fury  of  loathing  and  hatred  seething  in  every 
vein  lent  me  an  irresistible  force.  I  turned  my 
head  back  to  her  and  wrenched  my  arm  free 
from  the  Egyptian  on  my  right,  and  a  blow 
from  it  hurled  him  against  the  wall.  The  next 
instant  there  was  a  flash  across  my  eyes,  a  tre- 
mendous stroke  across  my  forehead,  and  then 
all  sense  glided  away  under  the  inrushing 
darkness. 

When  sense  came  back  to  me,  I  was  lying 
in  the  sand  of  the  roadway.  All  round  me 
there  reigned  absolute  silence.  The  moon  had 
risen  and  threw  its  light  along  the  quiet  road; 
over  me  loomed  the  wall  of  the  house  as  I  lay 
on  the  edge  of  its  shadow.  I  rose  giddily  and 
unsteadily,  brushing  the  blood  that  had  flowed 
from  the  forehead  away  from  my  eyes,  and 
looked  over  the  blank  windowless  walls,  feel- 
ing as  if  my  brain  would  burst  with  agony  as 
the  flood  of  sentient  consciousness  rushed  back 
upon  it.  The  white  walls  in  the  moonlight 
glared  back  upon  me  till  they  seemed  to  spin 
and  reel  in  my  strained  vision.  Then  I  began 
to  walk — walk  as  the  tiger  does  in  his  ten-foot 
cage.  Up  to  the  edge  of  the  shadow  of  the 
house  my  feet  mechanically  carried  me,  and 

230 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

then  back  again.  What  could  I  do?  My 
thoughts  seemed  driving  through  my  head,  like 
two-edged  knives,  tearing  as  they  went.  To 
rouse  the  authorities  and  invoke  their  aid 
would  result  in  what?  Before  that  house 
could  be  forced  or  razed  or  burned,  before 
any  European  hand  could  reach  the  inmates, 
there  would  be  ample  time  for  them  to  re- 
venge themselves  upon  their  hostage  and  evade 
retribution  for  themselves  by  some  easy  death, 
and  to  me  the  officers  of  justice  would  render 
back  a  mangled  corpse.  In  my  hand  I  held 
her  fate,  and  the  knowledge  of  this  weighted 
me,  chained  me  to  inaction. 

Inaction!  inaction!  In  that  blind  thirst  for 
vengeance,  in  that  rage  of  anger,  in  that  mad 
longing  to  regain  her,  it  was  the  cruellest  tor- 
ture that  could  be  inflicted.  But  inaction  it 
must  be.  She  had  begged  her  life  of  me, 
bought  it  now  at  the  highest  price,  and  it  still 
lay  insecure,  uncertain  in  my  keeping.  I  was 
its  treasurer.  Had  .  the  malignant  spirit 
which  seemed  to  have  pursued  me  with  refer- 
ence to  this  woman,  and  transformed,  an- 
tagonistically to  myself,  even  my  least  selfish 
actions  into  positive  transgressions  against  her, 
determined  also  to  make  me  the  destroyer  of 
h'T  life  itself?  The  nails  sank  deep  into  my 

231 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

palms.  There  was  nothing,  nothing  for  me 
to  do  but  wait,  to  suffer,  and  to  submit. 
Mechanically  I  took  out  the  revolver.  It 
shone  in  the  white  light.  I  looked  at  it  with  a 
delirious  desire  to  shoot  myself  through  the 
eyes.  Its  bullets  in  my  brain  would  be  more 
welcome  than  my  thoughts. 

Bah !  What  was  death  that  she  should  have 
escaped  it  at  such  a  cost?  Obeying  the  wild 
craving  for  obliteration — obliteration  of  mem- 
ory and  of  thought,  the  jnsensate  longing 
for  a  blank,  a  nothingness,  a  powerlessness 
to  think,  my  fingers  cocked  the  revolver,  and 
then  I  undid  their  action  with  a  dreary  laugh. 
I  was  fettered  to  life,  just  as  I  was  fettered 
to  passivity,  for  her  sake.  Where  could  Theo- 
dora turn,  if  not  to  me,  when  they  released 
her?  I  thrust  the  revolver  back  out  of  my 
sight.  She  would  return  to  me,  and  I  must 
be  there  to  receive  her  back.  To  take  my  own 
life,  upon  which  hers  depended,  was  but  a 
form  and  a  manner  of  taking  hers.  I  walked 
on  and  then  back,  on  and  then  back,  under 
the  wall,  as  hour  after  hour  of  that  night  went 
by,  oblivious  of  everything,  insensible  to  every- 
thing, in  a  hell  of  self-reproach  and  of  insane, 
useless,  powerless  rage.  At  last  the  twilight 
warned  me  it  was  getting  near  the  dawn.  To 

232 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

be  seen  there  by  natives  or  Europeans,  to  ex- 
cite suspicion,  to  draw  attention  upon  the 
Egyptians,  to  allow  any  information  to  reach 
indirectly  the  ear  of  the  law,  would  be  as  fatal 
as  to  seek  its  aid.  The  light  was  a  peremptory 
summons  for  me  to  withdraw. 

In  the  grey  morning  I  turned  away  from 
the  house  and  walked  eastwards  and  home- 
wards, leaving  her  there.  I  reached  my  own 
house,  unfastened  the  door,  and  went  up  the 
stairs.  In  a  dazed  and  disordered  way  I  yet 
felt  keenly  that  all  Theodora's  safety  rested 
on  my  actions,  and  with  some  instinct  work- 
ing for  me,  more  allied  to  the  madman's  cun- 
ning than  reason's  forethought,  I  crossed  to- 
wards the  glass.  I  saw  my  hair  was  matted 
with  blood  and  filled  with  sand.  The  cut 
itself  was  high  up,  over  the  temple,  and  con- 
cealed by  the  hair ;  so  much  the  better.  There 
was  blood  upon  my  face  and  upon  my  shoulder. 
In  an  hour's  time  I  had  changed  all  my  clothes, 
washed  away  the  blood,  and  descended  the 
stairs.  At  the  foot  I  met  our  servant.  He 
stared  at  me  in  dismay. 

"Allah,  have  mercy!     The  sahib  is  ill!" 
"Yes,  I  am  not  well.     Bring  me  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  some  brandy,"  I   answered,  and 
passed  on  into  the  dining-room. 

233 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

I  sat  down,  with  my  arms  outstretched  be- 
fore me,  staring  into  vacancy.  Was  it  cred- 
ible that  I  was  her  lover  and  yet  acting 
like  this?  Conniving  at  the  whole  matter, 
actually  sheltering  her  injurers,  preserving 
their  immunity  from  discovery.  Mockery,  bit- 
ter mockery  and  irony  and  derision  of  fate 
that  forced  me  to  act,  look,  feel  like  her  mur- 
derer, this  same  fate  that  had  forced  me  be- 
fore, while  determined  for  her  own  sake  not  to 
become  this  woman's  husband,  to  instead  be- 
come her  lover. 

"Will  the  other  sahib  return  to  breakfast?" 
inquired  the  man,  re-entering. 

"No;  nor  will  he  rejoin  me  for  a  week,"  I 
returned.  "I  expect  him  to  come  back  here 
at  the  end  of  that  time.  Husmatrai,  here," 
I  added,  as  he  turned  to  go.  "No  talk.  Do 
you  understand?  Silence."  I  looked  at 
Husmatrai,  and  he  bowed  to  the  ground,  strik- 
ing his  forehead  many  times  with  his  hand, 
murmured  "The  sahib's  slave,"  and  withdrew. 
I  did  not  in  the  least  anticipate  that  the  tale 
of  my  companion's  absence  would  go  any 
further  than  ourselves  through  his  agency. 
I  knew  the  man  liked  me,  and  I  had  always 
treated  him  well.  The  secret  was  safe,  the 
murderer  might  feel  secure,  I  thought  to  my- 

234 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

self,  with  the  shadow  of  a  bitter  smile  as  I 
walked  to  the  desk  by  the  window  and  turned 
over  the  correspondence.  There  were  two 
letters  that  had  to  be  answered  at  once.  It 
seemed  to  me  I  could  never  bend  my  mind  to 
them.  I  had  to  read  each  through  half-a- 
dozen  times,  but  at  last  I  realised  their  drift 
and  wrote  the  replies.  Then  there  was  a 
lengthy  report  to  be  looked  through  concern- 
ing the  shipping  in  the  Canal,  full  of  errors 
that  it  was  my  business  to  correct  before  it 
was  printed.  The  figures  jumped  before  my 
eyes,  and  the  lines  of  writing  wavered  up  and 
down  until  I  thought  I  was  losing  all  control 
over  the  swimming  brain.  The  events  of  the 
past  night  rose  before  me  with  remorseless 
persistency.  A  hundred  times  my  thoughts 
travelled  over  the  same  ground.  A  hundred 
times  I  was  descending  that  wooden  staircase 
to  the  closed  door.  Wherever  I  looked — on 
the  walls,  beyond  the  window,  on  the  paper 
before  me — I  saw  Theodora  standing  with 
her  hand  on  the  Egyptian's  sash. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  I  had 
finished  all  the  work  and  left  it  ready  on  the 
desk  for  Husmatrai  to  despatch.  I  called 
him  in  and  sent  him  away  with  it.  Then  I 
turned  and  went  upstairs.  Fever  was  begin- 

235 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

ning  to  burn  in  every  fibre  and  cell  of  my 
body;  I  felt  I  must  lie  down.  As  I  entered 
the  room  and  crossed  to  the  bed  my  eyes  fell 
upon  Theodora's  handkerchief  lying  there, 
and  the  yellow  paper  novel  she  had  been  read- 
ing the  previous  afternoon.  A  sudden,  ter- 
rible realisation  of  irreparable  loss  rushed  in 
upon  me,  an  overwhelming  sense  of  irremedi- 
able, immeasurable  injury.  I  flung  myself 
face  downwards  on  the  bed  and  drew  her  hand- 
kerchief under  my  lips  and  kissed  it  in  a  pas- 
sion of  uncontrollable  sobbing. 

Every  night  of  those  seven  I  went  down  to 
the  native  city,  and  remained  within  watching 
distance  of  the  house  till  dawn.  I  gained 
nothing.  There  was  no  sign,  no  sound. 
Those  blank  white  walls  and  narrow  slits  be- 
hind their  aged,  rusty  bars  told  no  tales.  The 
door  beneath  was  shut  now.  There  was  no 
light  above  it.  Not  a  single  being  passed  in 
or  out. 

Whatever  my  term  of  life  may  be,  whatever 
I  may  have  to  suffer,  there  can  hardly  be  more 
pain  in  store  for  me  than  was  crushed  into 
those  seven  nights,  while  I  waited  and 
watched  under  the  wall  till  sunrise,  alone  with 
my  thoughts.  The  one  great  pulse  that  beat 
savagely  through  them  all  was  anger  against 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

her — a  bitter,  implacable  anger  that  she  had 
rejected  death  by  our  own  hands. 

At  times,  wrapped  up  in  my  egoism,  in  my 
entire  thought  of  self,  which  is  the  base  of  all 
men's  love,  I  felt  I  did  not  care  whether  she 
returned  to  me  living  or  not.  To  burn,  raze, 
sack  this  house,  to  drag  out  the  hounds  that 
skulked  there,  to  avenge  myself  on  them,  and 
then  shoot  myself  on  her  corpse — this  was  my 
most  present  desire.  If  she  did  return  to 
me  living,  then  what?  The  angry  blood 
flooded  all  my  face  and  my  brain  seemed 
bursting  open  under  the  question,  but  still  I 
loved  her  well  enough  to  know  the  answer.  I 
could  not  desert  one  who  had  given  up  so 
much  for  me,  been  so  much  to  me,  as  she  had. 
Mere  honour — at  least  my  notion  of  it — 
would  prevent  me.  Theodora  was  as  cer- 
tainly my  future  wife  at  this  minute  as  she 
had  been  when  I  had  first  consented  to  take 
her  with  me.  If  she  did  not  return  at  the 
end  of  those  seven  days — then  for  my  ven- 
geance. 

The  moonlight  fell  in  liquid  silver  along  the 
sand,  my  dogcart  stood  at  a  little  distance,  and 
I  paced,  with  my  own  black  shadow  for  com- 
pany, up  and  down  one  short  length  of  dust 
from  where  I  could  see  the  house.  It  was  the 

237 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

seventh  night.  Much  more  of  this  and  my 
brain  must  have  lost  its  balance.  Suddenly, 
as  my  straining  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  door, 
it  opened,  a  shoot  of  lamplight — and  a  slight 
figure  was  thrust  out  that  stumbled  and  fell 
in  the  sand.  The  next  instant  it  had  risen, 
and  Theodora  fled  towards  me  down  the 
moonlit  road.  I  held  out  my  arms  to  her,  but 
she  avoided  them,  and  the  next  second  she  was 
at  my  feet  in  the  dust  convulsed  in  an  agony 
of  sobs,  each  one  of  which  seemed  as  if  tearing 
the  life  from  her. 

"Oh,  Cecil,  Cecil,  it  would  have  been  better 
had  you  shot  me  as  you  wished." 

We  had  changed,  for  I  thought  not,  as  I 
leaned  down  and  raised  her  in  my  arms. 
This  human  thing  in  which  still  centred  my 
desires.  Her  head  strained  violently  back 
over  my  arm,  so  as  to  keep  the  face  from  my 
eyes ;  but  they  sought  it,  and  the  moonlight  fell 
full  upon  it.  Good  God!  it  was  horrible; 
blotted  and  covered  with  sores. 

"Oh,  I  have  lost  you!  I  know  I  have  lost 
you!  You  won't  care  for  me  now."  And 
the  wild,  bloodshot  eyes  met  mine  in  an  agony 
of  unutterable,  intolerable  shame. 

She  was  fearful  to  look  at  in  that  moment, 
but  all  sense  of  loathing  or  repulsion,  the 

238 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

recollection  of  personal  loss,  every  trace  of 
personal  resentment,  was  suddenly  carried 
away,  swept  from  me  by  an  overpowering  tide 
of  pity  for  her.  Every  voice  within  me  was 
struck  silent  by  the  despairing  misery,  the  im- 
print of  frightful  suffering  upon  the  disfig- 
ured face.  No  thought  of  self  could  live  in 
the  tremendous  sea  of  sympathy  and  distress 
for  her  that  seemed  to  roll  through  me  as  I 
looked  upon  her,  and,  moved  only  by  one  great 
impulse  to  soothe  and  comfort  her,  I  bent  down 
and  kissed  her  lips.  It  was  the  purest  kiss 
I  had  ever  given  her,  not  the  kiss  of  passion 
nor  of  personal  pleasure,  but  the  kiss  of  con- 
solation. It  was  the  highest,  noblest,  most 
worthy  moment  in  all  the  course  of  our  passion 
—this  moment  when  Theodora  was  to  me 
neither  wife  nor  mistress,  but  simply  a  loved 
fellow  human  being.  That  which  I  had 
striven  vaguely  to  attain  and  had  not,  in  the 
flush  of  pleasure  and  the  satisfaction  of  the 
senses,  I  had  gained  now  in  pain  and  shame, 
and  when  she  came  back  to  me  disfigured  and 
degraded — I  loved  unselfishly. 

As  the  clinging  slough  from  the  lizard,  my 
own  desire  fell  from  me  in  that  moment,  and 
unblinded,  unweighted  by  it,  I  was  free  to 
love  her  as  a  human  being  should  be  loved,  in 

239 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

and  for  herself,  not  for  the  joy  it  may  confer 
upon  another,  but  absolutely,  for  itself  only, 
as  approaching  and  relating  to  divinity. 
Now  at  last,  when  my  passion  was  held  para- 
lysed and  revolted  in  my  veins,  when  Theo- 
dora was  no  longer  lovely  and  desirable  to  me, 
when  all  my  senses  turned  from  her,  stricken 
with  loathing,  it  was  then  that  I  knew  and 
could  claim  that  I  loved  her  in  the  truest, 
highest  meaning  of  the  word.  Now  when  I 
had  nothing  to  gain  from  her,  when  there  was 
no  thought  of  pleasure  or  gratification  for 
me,  when  I  ceased  to  look  upon  her  as  an 
object  of  delight  for  myself,  then  first  most 
truly  I  might  be  said  to  love.  Her  words, 
"Oh,  you  won't  care  for  me  now,"  cut  through 
me  like  the  blow  of  a  knife;  they  seemed  to 
lay  open  my  own  heart  before  my  eyes,  to 
reveal  to  me  the  worthlessness  and  baseness 
of  the  love  I  had  for  her — if  those  words  were 
true.  Had  she  known  and  accepted  with 
resignation  the  thought  that  all  she  possessed 
was  the  vain,  fleeting  desire  of  the  flesh,  and 
that  with  a  blot  upon  the  beauty,  a  stain  upon 
the  purity,  it  must  vanish? 

Evidently:  and  her  words  smote  me  with 
tremendous  force.  So  had  I  been  loving  her, 
so  had  I  proved  my  love  for  her,  that  in  a 

240 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

moment  like  this,  of  abasement  and  humilia- 
tion, she  should  turn  from  me  in  hopeless, 
helpless  terror,  willing  rather  to  face  death 
than  her  lover,  if  her  beauty  and  her  virtue, 
the  sources  of  his  pleasure,  were  destroyed. 
A  dull  self-reproach,  a  dim  realisation  of  the 
intense  egoism  of  men's  love,  filled  me,  as  I 
felt  the  weak,  strengthless  form  flutter  and 
try  to  escape  from  me  and  hide  its  agony  and 
shame  and  pain  anywhere  but  in  my  arms. 
The  man  to  whom  she  had  given  all  she  pos- 
sessed while  she  possessed  it,  was  now  in  her 
misery  to  be  fled  from,  one  from  whom  no  tol- 
erance, no  sympathy  could  be  hoped  or  ex- 
pected. I  drew  her  closer  into  my  heart.  My 
anger  against  her  was  dead.  Every  emotion 
was  lost  in  the  mere  longing  to  comfort  her,  to 
diminish  this  distress  I  was  witness  to,  to  lift 
off  from  her  some  of  this  burden  of  shame 
that  seemed  crushing  her. 

Effeminacy,  weak-mindedness,  my  forgive- 
ness of  her  may  be  called:  very  good:  I  can 
bear  the  stigma  of  effeminate  weakness  better 
than  I  could  the  torturing  thought  that  I  had 
added  one  touch  of  pain  to  another's  degra- 
dation and  despair.  I  murmured  some  words 
of  consolation,  but  to  deaf  ears ;  I  felt  her  col- 
lapse suddenly,  her  head  sink  heavily  on  my 

241 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

arm,  and  I  saw  she  had  fainted.  In  this  state 
I  lifted  her  into  the  dogcart,  took  my  seat  be- 
side her,  and  drove  back  to  the  European 
quarter. 

It  was  a  night  of  horror  that  followed.  It 
was  not  till  I  had  carried  her  into  the  house 
upstairs  to  our  room  and  laid  her  on  the  bed 
that  she  recovered  consciousness,  and  then 
only  to  pass  from  it  immediately  into  delirium. 
All  night  long  she  raved,  and  I  had  to  listen, 
pacing  to  and  fro  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
Slowly  the  time  crept  by,  minute  by  minute, 
marked  only  by  the  inflections  of  that  strained, 
sharp  voice.  The  house  was  still,  silent,  con- 
taining only  our  two  selves.  The  window 
stood  wide  open,  showing  the  broad,  sandy 
road  to  the  canal.  It  seemed  as  if  the  dawn 
would  never  break  behind  it.  From  time  to 
time  Theodora  would  raise  herself  in  a  fit  of 
terror  and  try  to  fling  herself  from  the  bed. 
Twice  it  was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  save 
her  from  throwing  herself  headlong  to  the 
ground,  and  then  when  she  felt  herself  con- 
trolled she  would  break  into  a  frenzy  of  delir- 
ious shrieks  that  echoed  through  the  empty 
rooms.  Each  \\urd  she  uttered  in  these  par- 
oxysms seemed  to  fall  on  me  like  a  drop  of 
molten  lead  into  a  wound;  for  this  terror  that 

242 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

oppressed  and  haunted  her — what  was  it? 
It  was  almost  wholly  a  terror  of  myself,  the 
fear  of  meeting  me  again.  The  horror  that 
loomed  before  the  sick,  wounded  brain  and 
drove  it  from  its  balance  was  really  her  lover's 
face.  To  escape  from  that,  to  kill  herself 
rather  than  come  back  to  me,  was  the  string 
upon  which  hung  and  jangled  all  the  other 
broken  thoughts.  In  all  her  raving  the  same 
theme  recurred  incessantly,  the  certainty  that 
I  should  condemn  her,  and  certainly  that  no 
pity  and  no  mercy  could  be  expected  from  me. 

With  the  morning  the  fever  lessened. 
When  the  light  fully  filled  the  room  I  bent 
over  her  and  saw  that  she  was  conscious. 
Motionless,  speechless,  on  the  verge  of  coma, 
she  lay  with  closed  lids,  her  face  colourless  ex- 
cept for  the  crimson  and  livid  patches  of  the 
sores.  She  opened  her  eyes  under  mine,  and 
then,  as  they  met  my  gaze,  a  terrified,  shrink- 
ing anguish  shot  into  them  and  the  lids  closed 
again,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  some  hor- 
ror-striking object. 

"Cecil,"  she  said,  before  I  had  time  to  speak, 
"am  I  very  much  disfigured?" 

"Disfigured!  No!  and,  Theodora—"  I 
said  with  an  uncontrollable,  desperate  longing 
to  vindicate  myself,  "if  you  were  ten  thousand 

243 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

times  disfigured  you  would  be  the  same  to 
me!" 

Theodora  made  no  answer.  The  shadow 
of  a  sceptical  smile  curved  the  pale,  weak  lips. 
She  was  in  a  state  of  collapse,  and  I  felt  it 
was  not  the  time  for  argument  and  protes- 
tation. I  persuaded  her  to  take  some  soup, 
supporting  her  head  on  my  arm;  then,  as  a 
tinge  of  colour  came  to  her  cheek,  I  asked  her 
how  she  felt. 

"Nothing  much,  except  intensely  weak," 
she  answered,  and  I  could  hear  the  weakness 
in  her  voice. 

I  sat  thinking.  The  boat  left  that  after- 
noon. Would  it  be  well  to  urge  her  to  make 
an  effort  to  leave  by  it,  or  would  the  exertion 
be  too  much  for  her  strength?  Jack  would 
be  back  that  night  or  to-morrow :  we  could  go. 
The  chances  of  recovery  on  board  ship,  with 
the  sea  air  to  breathe,  were  greater  than  here 
in  this  stagnant,  unwholesome  air  of  the  port, 
and  the  change  of  place,  the  removal  of  these 
hateful  associations,  would  be  an  infinite  re- 
lief to  the  mind.  At  the  same  time  the  move- 
ment and  fatigue  and  excitement  of  starting 
would  inevitably  bring  on  a  new  access  of 
fever.  Sitting  thinking  of  these  things,  her 
voice  startled  me. 

244 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

"Cecil,"  and  her  hand  touched  my  arm  that 
rested  on  the  counterpane,  "y°u  were  so 
anxious  to  marry  me  once.  Will  you  care  to 
marry  me  now  when  we  go  home?" 

She  turned  her  head  slightly  towards  me,  I 
closed  my  hand  spasmodically  upon  hers. 

"Of  course  I  will  marry  you! — at  any  time, 
the  first  moment  we  can  do  so,  here  or  at 
home." 

She  gave  a  faint  laugh. 

"Well,  it  is  of  no  consequence!  I  shall  not 
trouble  you." 

I  could  not  answer  her.  There  was  a  burn- 
ing in  my  throat  and  a  mist  before  my  eyes. 
But  her  words  determined  me  to  risk  every- 
thing to  get  her  away  from  this  accursed  port 
and  its  memories.  When  I  had  found  my 
voice  I  pressed  her  to  get  up  and  try  to  leave 
with  me  that  day.  Theodora  rose  with  a 
painful  effort,  sat  up  and  brought  her  feet  to 
the  ground,  pretty,  tiny  feet,  so  small  that 
both  could  almost  lie  in  my  hand.  I  could 
not  prevent  her  tottering  over  to  the  long 
glass  standing  in  the  window.  I  was  close 
beside  her  and  supported  her  with  my  arm,  or 
I  think  she  would  have  fallen  as  she  caught 
sight  of  her  own  image.  As  it  was  she  stag- 
gered and  almost  slid  from  me. 

245 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

"Good  heavens,  Cecil,  how  my  face  is 
swollen!  What  is  it?  How  awful!  I  could 
not  recognise  myself,  and  my  hair,  too;  look 
at  it!"  She  passed  one  hand  over  the  little 
black  silky  head  I  loved,  as  she  spoke,  and  a 
shower  of  hair  fell  to  the  ground.  "What  a 
sight  I  am!  utterly  hideous!" 

I  wondered  it  did  not  strike  her  how  lovely 
the  figure  was  that  the  glass  gave  back  to  her 
as  it  leaned  against  me,  how  beautiful  that 
solid  white  neck,  set  between  those  perfect 
shoulders,  as  the  cold  morning  light  struck 
upon  it,  where  the  linen  lay  partly  open  on 
her  chest.  I  told  her  my  thoughts,  and 
added — 

"Now  come!  don't  worry  about  your  looks 
any  more.  You  will  get  them  all  back." 

"You  are  a  dear,  charming  fellow,  Cecil — 
3'ou  always  were,  and  I  am  so  sorry  to  make 
you  look  so  ill  and  worried,"  she  answered, 
and  turned  from  the  glass. 

I  offered  her  a  chair,  but  she  sat  down  on 
the  floor  to  put  her  shoes  on,  as  a  child  does. 
That  toilet  was  a  trial  to  us  both.  She  evi- 
dently felt  frightfully  ill,  though  she  made  no 
complaint.  Her  hands  burned  like  the  actual 
touch  of  flame.  Every  movement  was  so 
weak  and  uncertain  that  I  dreaded  a  fall  at 

246 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

each  moment.  As  she  dressed  I  could  hear 
the  bones  of  her  wrists  and  ankles,  sucked  dry 
by  the  fever,  crack  and  snap  with  painful  dis- 
tinctness. She  forced  herself  with  unflag- 
ging courage,  but  her  fingers  and  her  limbs 
trembled  so  excessively  that  each  simplest 
action  took  three  times  its  normal  length  of 
time.  At  last  she  was  dressed  and  sank  upon 
one  of  the  chairs  by  the  window — sank  as  if 
she  would  never  rise  again.  She  looked  at 
me  and  forced  a  faint  smile. 

"Now  I  am  all  right.  Go  and  make  any 
arrangements  that  may  be  necessary,  and 
come  back  and  fetch  me  when  you  are  ready." 

I  went  out,  down  to  the  quay,  keeping  my 
thoughts  fixed  resolutely  on  the  immediate 
present.  Just  then  I  did  not  dare  to  think 
of  either  the  past  or  the  future.  The  steamer 
was  in  when  I  reached  the  canal  shore,  and 
I  took  one  of  the  boats  to  it.  There  was  an 
air  of  fresh  life  from  end  to  end  of  it  when  I 
stepped  on  deck,  a  mass  of  women's  light 
dresses  grouped  on  it  aft;  the  sound  of  laugh- 
ter and  conversation  making  a  murmur  under 
the  awning.  It  all  struck  heavily  upon  me 
as  I  made  my  way  to  headquarters.  I  en- 
gaged two  passages  as  far  as  Aden,  taking  a 
small  cabin  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  ship  with 

247 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

but  two  berths  in  it,  the  only  one  vacant, 
found  out  that  the  steamer  left  an  hour  hence, 
and  then  hurried  off  it  back  to  Theodora. 

When,  three  quarters  of  an  hour  later,  in 
the  full  glare  of  an  Egyptian  noonday,  we 
drove  down  to  the  canal  together,  the  fever 
had  mounted  four  degrees,  and  she  was  on  the 
borders  of  delirium.  She  talked  a  little 
wildly,  and  her  voice  was  unnaturally  high 
and .  strained ;  she  was  perfectly  clear  at  pres- 
ent and  sensible  of  what  was  said  to  her,  but 
I  could  see  that  it  would  not  be  for  long. 
The  long  flight  of  steep,  slippery  steps  that 
form  the  ship's  ladder  down  to  the  boat  is  an 
instrument  of  torture  to  anyone  stricken  with 
fever ;  and  the  look  that  she  cast  upon  it  as  we 
neared  the  ship  went  to  my  heart.  Over  the 
side  of  the  vessel  and  round  the  head  of  the  lad- 
der leaned  an  idle  crowd  of  first-class  passen- 
gers, for  whom,  in  the  ennui  and  monotony  of 
ship  lif e,  a  boat  approaching  from  the  port  be- 
comes an  object  of  interest.  The  bright, 
light  dresses  of  the  women  caught  the  sunlight, 
their  scarlet  sunshades,  balanced  over  their 
heads  as  they  leaned  forward,  blazed  in  it, 
their  gloved  hands  held  the  rail,  and  their 
laughter  and  chaff  reached  us  in  the  boat.  I 

248 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

saw  a  crimson  flood  of  colour  pour  over  Theo- 
dora's distorted  face  as  she  glanced  up. 

We  went  up  the  steps  side  by  side,  under 
the  gaze  of  about  forty  curious  eyes,  very 
slowly,  for  fever  robs  the  muscles  and  the 
bones  of  power  to  move,  except  stiffly  and 
with  intense  difficulty.  One  of  her  trembling, 
scorching  hands  lay  on  my  arm,  the  other  on 
the  wooden  hand-rail.  When  at  last  we 
reached  the  top,  the  captain  himself  came 
hastily  forward  through  the  passengers  be- 
fore we  had  set  our  feet  on  the  deck,  and, 
looking  at  Theodora,  said  nervously  some- 
thing about  "contagion"  and  "the  other  pas- 
sengers." 

"I  assure  you  there  is  nothing  contagious," 
I  said;  "but  if  you  feel  afraid  we  will  con- 
sider ourselves  isolated  to  our  own  cabin  until 
he  has  recovered.  I  feel  sure  a  few  davs  at 

• 

sea  will  set  him  straight.      If   not,   put  us 
ashore  at  Ismailia:  I  believe  you  touch  there?" 

"Well,  gentlemen,  of  course  if  you  keep  to 
your  own  cabin — otherwise — really — the  re- 
sponsibility— 

"Certainly,"  I  answered,  and  after  a 
second's  hesitation  he  stepped  aside  and  let  us 
p^ss  on  deck. 

249 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

The  well-dressed,  idling  crowd  divided  and 
fell  back  before  us  as  if  we  were  brandishing 
red-hot  irons,  and  murmurs  reached  our  ears 
from  every  side:  "Disgraceful,"  "Ought  not 
to  be  allowed,"  "Leprosy,"  "Small-pox," 
"Looks  as  if  he  were  dying,"  and  so  on.  I 
did  not  heed.  I  was  too  mucV  engrossed  in 
noticing  the  increasing  heat  and  pressure  of 
my  darling's  arm  to  think  of  anything  else. 
When  we  reached  our  own  cabin  Theodora 
relinquished  her  hold  upon  me  and  threw  her- 
self into  the  lower  berth  and  let  her  head  fall 
heavily  towards  the  wall.  The  next  time  I 
spoke  to  her  she  had  lost  consciousness,  and 
answered  me  incoherently.  I  shot  the  bolt  on 
the  cabin  door,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  couch 
under  the  window. 

Thought,  terrible  thought,  the  relentless 
pursuer  of  man,  rushed  in  upon  me,  and  I 
could  not  escape  from  it.  We  were  leav- 
ing the  port  then,  and  no  vengeance  had  been 
taken.  And  yet  what  worth  is  vengeance 
when  it  can  undo  nothing?  I  glanced  at  the 
incomparable  figure,  lying  with  bent  head  and 
collapsed  limbs,  and  ground  my  teeth  down 
upon  my  lip  till  the  blood  started  violently. 
The  low,  raving  voice  filled  the  silence  of  the 
cabin;  from  above  came  down  across  it  at 

250 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

integrals  the  light  laughter  of  the  women 
upon  deck.  Within  my  own  brain  there 
seemed  some  terrific  tension,  a  cord  stretched 
and  threatening  to  snap  at  each  instant. 
Fearfully  and  bitterly  had  Fate  mocked  my 
jealousy — mine,  I  who  had  hated  a  chance 
glance  upon  her  .  .  .!  A  knock  came  at 
the  cabin  door. 

"Who  is  it?"  I  asked. 

I  felt  as  if  I  could  strike  dead  any  one  who 
addressed  me  at  that  moment. 

"The  doctor." 

I  got  up  and  opened  the  door. 

"I  heard  some  one  was  ill,  and  thought  I 
could  be  of  assistance  to  you.  Do  you  want 
anything?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered.  "You  may  bring  me 
some  antifebrine  in  five  grain  packets  by  pref- 
erence. And  order  the  steward  to  bring  a 
series  of  cups  of  tea,  as  hot  as  he  can  manage ; 
and,  look  here,  say  it  must  not  be  the  filth  one 
generally  has  for  tea  on  board.  Tell  him  I'll 
give  him  half-a-guinea  a  cup  for  each  one 
that's  drinkable,  and — doctor,  come  in  a  min- 
ute," I  added,  and  he  came  inside. 

I  put  my  arm  under  Theodora's  head  and 
turned  her  face  towards  the  light. 

"Now,  you  see  what  these  sores  are.     They 

251 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

Are  the  ordinary  Egyptian  sore,  contracted  by 
drinking  impure  water  or  something  of  the 
sort.  They  are  not  contagious  from  one  to 
the  other  in  the  ordinary  sense;  so,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  disabuse  the  passengers  of  the 
idea.  He  will  never  get  well  down  here;  I 
want  to  get  him  upon  deck." 

"No,  no;  of  course  they  are  not  catching 
through  the  air;  I'll  tell  them  all  that.  But 
they  are  through  contact,  mind;  and  I'd  ad- 
vise you  to  touch  him  as  little  as  possible." 
Then  he  added  reflectively,  "It's  a  very  grave 
case  of  fever — very." 

"Grave!  I  know  it  is;  but  I  think  it's  only 
severe  simple  fever." 

We  stood  silent  a  second  listening  to  the 
half-inarticulate,  delirious  muttering  from  the 
burned  and  swollen  lips. 

"Couldn't  say,  I'm  sure,"  he  returned. 
"Looks  to  me  as  if  there  was  a  touch  of  brain 
about  it.  What  is  this  'Cecil'  he  keeps  re- 
peating?" 

"That  is  my  name,"  I  said  with  a  flush. 

"Oh,  ah!  I  see.  Well,  we  must  note  how 
things  go.  I'll  let  you  have  the  febrine  at 
once,"  and  he  went  out. 

The  heat  in  the  cabin  was  suffocating.  As 
the  ship  lay  our  port  was  southwards,  and  the 

252 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

sun's  rays  poured  into  it.  The  new  white 
paint  with  which  the  cabin  was  lined,  blistered 
and  cracked,  and  filled  the  few  feet  of  air  with 
its  stifling  odour  of  lead.  The  flies  from  off 
the  land  swarmed  in  through  the  port-window, 
settling  upon  and  clinging  to  everything,  and 
all  my  efforts  were  only  just  sufficient  to  ward 
them  off  her  face.  There  was  a  continuous 
hurrying  of  feet  and  dragging  of  chains  and 
merchandise  past  our  door,  and  a  tramping 
backwards  and  forwards  overhead,  with  every 
now  and  then  a  crash  of  some  bale  of  goods 
overturned  or  thrown  down,  at  which  Theodora 
would  start  up  and  stare  wildly  at  me.  From 
the  canal  came  the  scent  of  stagnant  water 
putrefying  under  the  sun's  rays;  from  the 
body  of  the  ship  that  of  rancid  oil  upon  hot 
iron,  and  these  strove  for  predominance  with 
the  paint,  in  the  thick  heated  air. 

When  one  is  on  deck,  where  one  generally 
is  while  a  steamer  is  loading  or  unloading  at 
an  Eastern  port,  the  tumult  and  the  noise  is 
hardly  noticed  in  the  movement  of  the  scene; 
but  shut  down  below  decks,  under  the  low 
roof  of  a  tiny  cabin,  one  seems  in  the  centre 
of  a  very  pandemonium  of  clamour,  heat,  and 
stench.  The  vessel  was  late  in  leaving,  and 
to  me,  watching  her  full  of  desperate  anxiety, 

253 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

the  minutes  passed  like  centuries.  At  last,  at 
three  in  the  afternoon,  we  were  moving,  and 
began  to  steam  slowly  down  the  canal.  The 
afternoon  wore  away,  and  then  came  a  rush 
of  orange  light  flowing  into  our  cabin  and 
filling  it  at  sunset.  This  faded  into  a  gradual 
obscurity,  and  I  lighted  the  tin  oil  lamp  on 
the  wall,  and  the  evening  went  by  as  the  after- 
noon. Theodora  lay  in  a  silent  stupor.  The 
steward  came  at  intervals,  otherwise  I  saw  no 
one.  At  ten  o'clock  the  doctor  came  again. 

"It's  all  right  now;  you  are  at  liberty  to 
go  up  on  deck,"  he  said.  "I  have  told  them 
there  is  no  danger.  How's  your  friend?" 

"About  the  same,  I  think,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  come  upstairs  for  a  time  yourself; 
you  really  should." 

"I  can't  leave  him  now;  the  fever  has  just 
come  on  again,"  I  said  hastily. 

"Did  they  send  you  any  dinner?" 

"No,  but  it's  of  no  consequence.  One  can't 
eat  in  an  atmosphere  like  this.  Thanks,  all 
the  same." 

"I'm  going  to  have  a  smoke  up  aloft. 
Mind,  if  you  want  anything  in  the  night,  my 
cabin's  close  here." 

"Thanks,"  I  said;  "good-night,"  and  I  went 
back  to  her. 

254. 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

For  six  days  and  nights  I  was  with  her  in- 
cessantly, and  a  slow  steady  improvement  in 
her  state  became  clearer  day  by  day.  On  the 
sixth,  at  midnight,  when  we  were  nearing 
Aden,  I  was  sitting  up  with  her,  watching  her. 
She  was  better,  the  fever  had  subsided,  the 
temperature  was  lower.  There  was  every 
hope.  The  tremendous  weight  of  fear  that 
had  been  crushing  and  chilling  my  heart  under 
it  was  lifted  off  me,  and  a  soothing,  peaceful 
calm  stole  through  me,  as  I  sat  and  watched 
her.  Her  head  had  sunk  a  little  sidewise  on 
the  raised  pillows;  the  dim  cabin  lamp  sent  its 
light  fully  across  her  features.  The  vile  sores 
had  died  off  the  face;  there  was  no  mark  of 
them  visible  in  this  light.  Pale,  bloodless, 
and  calm,  like  a  carved  ivory  image,  she  lay 
there,  as  motionless  and  apparently  as  breath- 
less. The  face  was  the  same,  and  yet  how 
changed  from  the  countenance  I  had  been 
watching  for  the  last  six  terrible  days!  As 
the  livid,  moist  sores  and  scabs  had  died  from 
the  smooth  skin,  so  had  the  distress  and 
strained  anguish,  and  the  imprint  of  suffering 
fled  from  the  whole  face.  The  unspeaking 
lids  concealed  the  pained,  excited,  glittering 
eyes ;  the  tremulous,  fever-burned  mouth  quiv- 
ered no  longer.  Both  the  pale  lips  were 

255 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

folded  together  in  peace,  and  the  old  sweetness 
had  come  back  to  them.  I  looked  and  I  felt 
nothing  but  a  supreme  and  infinite  thankful- 
ness. Never  at  any  time  had  she  seemed  as 
dear  to  me  as  now.  A  little  after  midnight 
she  opened  her  eyes,  and  they  encountered 
mine  upon  her. 

"Cecil!"  I  crossed  to  her  berth  and  stood 
by  it.  "I  believe  I  am  much  better,  and  shall 
live  now;  but  in  case  anything  should  happen, 
I  want  you  always  to  remember  you  have 
nothing  to  reproach  yourself  with.  You  have 
been  most  kind  and  good  to  me.  You  will 
remember.'* 

I  flung  myself  on  my  knees  and  put  my; 
arms  round  her  and  kissed  her,  on  her  neck, 
between  her  chin  and  bosom.  "Why  should 
you  say  such  a  thing?"  I  asked  passionately. 
"Nothing  will  happen.  I  won't  let  it.  You 
are  going  to  live  now." 

"Oh,  yes.  I  know  I  am,"  she  answered, 
with  the  familiar,  jesting  levity,  as  she  twisted 
her  soft  arms  round  my  neck  and  leaned  her 
head  against  me.  "But  still,  I  want  to  tell 
you  you  have  been  very  good  to  me,  and — 
I  love  you." 

It  was  the  first  time  this  phrase  had  ever 
passed  her  lips.  I  had  not  missed  it  hitherto 

256 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

in  our  relations,  but  now  I  knew  suddenly  I 
had  not  heard  it  from  her  before.  Perhaps 
her  innate,  indestructible  self-knowledge  had 
barred  her  utterance  of  it  until  now.  What 
had  existed  between  us  up  to  this  time? 
Love  ?  Rather  an  unlimited  passion.  Almost 
immediately  she  had  spoken  her  eyes  closed, 
her  arms  loosened  and  unclasped.  I  reined 
in  my  own  emotions,  and  let  her  head  slide 
gently  back  upon  the  pillow.  The  least  ex- 
citement now  would  bring  back  the  fever.  A 
few  moments  after  she  seemed  to  be  asleep. 
It  was  intensely  still.  Within  and  without 
the  cabin  not  a  sound  disturbed  the  silence; 
there  was  not  even  the  lap  of  water  against 
the  ship's  side.  Beyond  the  port-window,  the 
large,  square  glass  of  which  I  had  set  open 
to  its  fullest  extent,  I  could  see  now  one  con- 
stellation, in  the  dark  space  of  sky,  then  later 
another,  while  the  first  had  disappeared.  This 
marked  our  passage;  otherwise,  in  the  still- 
ness at  this  end  of  the  ship,  we  hardly  seemed 
moving.  Silence  and  heat  seemed  brooding 
upon  everything,  and  they  seemed  to  press 
upon  me  like  a  stifling  weight. 

For  eight  nights  I  had  had  no  sleep,  and 
between  excitement,  anxiety,  and  fear  I  had 
not  missed  it.  The  slight  fever  in  my  OWB 

257 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

body,  besides  the  strain  on  the  mind,  had 
warded  off  from  me  and  kept  me  through  the 
whole  time  strung  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
wakefulness.  That  peculiar,  keen  wakeful- 
ness,  that  sharpened  clearness  of  the  brain  and 
an  utter  absence  of  fatigue  that  tropical  fever 
supplies  to  a  man  as  no  drug  can  supply,  had 
been  mine.  But  now,  as  I  felt  the  palms  of 
my  hands,  they  were  cool,  the  fever  had  left 
me.  The  danger  seemed  to  have  passed  for 
her,  and  with  it  the  tension  upon  me,  and  now 
suddenly,  sitting  in  the  silent  cabin,  with  her 
serene,  sleeping,  ivory-hued  face  before  me, 
my  own  exhaustion  came  down  upon  me  like 
a  black  whirling  cloud.  Suddenly  I  felt  I 
must  sleep.  My  arms  dropped.  My  head 
sank.  The  cabin  rocked  and  then  faded  into 
darkness  before  my  eyes.  Sleep,  sleep.  The 
next  minute  I  had  staggered  to  my  feet  with 
a  start.  I  was  there  to  watch  her,  not  to 
sleep.  It  was  quite  possible  the  temperature 
might  rise  and  the  delirium  return  towards 
morning,  and  in  the  delirium  she  had  already 
more  than  once  tried  to  throw  away  her  life.  I 
forced  my  lids  open,  but  they  seemed  like 
clinging  lead.  I  steadied  myself  against  the 
edge  of  the  berth  and  looked  at  my  watch. 
Nearly  three.  But  three  more  hours,  and 

258 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

then  another  watcher  could  be  found  and  I 
could  sleep — yes,  sleep — sleep  on  for  hours 
and  hours,  but  now  I  must  keep  it  from  me. 
I  looked  round  the  cabin,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing amongst  all  those  bottles  but  sedatives. 
Even  as  I  looked  at  the  shelf  where  they  stood 
it  swayed,  and  my  lids  fell  over  my  eyes. 
With  an  inconceivable  effort  I  tore  them  open. 
How  could  I  keep  myself  awake?  Motion 
was  denied  me,  for  there  were  but  two  feet  of 
clear  space  in  the  cabin.  Every  muscle,  every 
limb  seemed  collapsing.  Throughout  my 
whole  frame  there  was  the  one  urgent,  per- 
emptory order  of  nature — sleep.  The  intense 
longing  for  it  drowned  and  obliterated  every 
other  thought  and  sensation.  It  crept  upon 
me,  the  vile,  physical  weakness;  the  drowsiness 
grew  thicker  and  thicker  over  my  brain,  and 
my  senses,  lying  upon  them  like  a  fold  upon 
fold  of  a  suffocating  blanket.  It  was  non- 
sense that  I  could  not  conquer  it — I  must.  I 
stumbled  across  to  the  window  to  get  the  outer 
air.  My  feet  seemed  wrapped  in  cotton  wool, 
the  muscles  no  longer  held  the  lids  up  from 
my  eyes.  I  saw  dimly  the  ledge  of  the  port- 
hole frame  and  clutched  it.  A  breath  of 
cooler  air  came  to  me  off  the  salt  water,  but 
it  came  as  from  a  long  distance,  unreal  and 

259 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

indistinct ;  it  could  not  rouse  me.  I  was  sink- 
ing into  this  utter  night  of  black  unconscious- 
ness. The  excessive  physical  desire,  like  some 
vast,  actual  hand,  the  Hand  of  Nature, 
gripped  me.  It  came  upon  me,  and  seemed  to 
bend  my  shoulders  and  thrust  down  my  head 
till  it  sank  upon  my  arms.  Then  dimly  I 
saw  my  penknife  lying  on  the  ledge.  In  the 
confused  and  failing  brain,  the  idea  came 
slowly,  painfully,  struggling  through  the  mists 
of  sleep — a  cut.  .  .  .  Yes,  a  cut — pain 
roused  one.  The  penknife  was  open,  and  my 
inert,  heavy  fingers  closed  upon  it.  I  drew 
it  unsteadily  across  my  left  wrist  with  my  eyes 
half  shut.  I  tried  to  press  it  hard,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  like  wool  in  my  fingers.  I  felt 
vaguely  a  burning  on  my  wrist,  and  the  mist 
before  my  eyes  went  into  a  sea  of  red  and  scar- 
let— that  was  all.  Then  thicker  than  before 
came  down  the  black,  blinding  curtain,  my 
head  sank  to  some  resting-place,  a  divine,  in- 
effable relaxation  passed  through  every  fibre. 
Softly,  like  oil  poured  into  the  open  wound, 
flowed  over  me  the  tremendous  satisfaction  of 
the  tremendous  longing,  and — I  slept.  After 
a  time  a  dream  came.  I  thought  Theodora 
was  sitting  up  in  the  berth  looking  at  me  and 
gesticulating  and  talking,  but  none  of  the 

260 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

words  reached  me.  "The  delirium  has  come 
back,"  I  thought,  and  I  strove  to  get  over  to 
her,  but  my  feet  were  weighted  to  the  floor. 
Then  I  saw  her  scramble  from  the  berth  and 
approach  me;  her  eyes  blazed  upon  me.  I 
tried  to  find  my  voice,  but  I  struggled  to  speak, 
vainly.  Her  lips  were  moving,  but  I  heard 
no  sound.  She  was  close  to  me  now,  but  her 
gaze  looked  past  me.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
terrific  shriek  close  in  my  very  ears,  and  I  was 
awake.  Startled  and  confused,  I  looked  round 
and  my  eyes  instinctively  sought  her  berth. 
It  was  empty.  The  cabin  was  empty:  the 
lamplight  fell  on  the  brass  bolt  of  the  door, 
still  shot  securely.  A  perfect,  deep,  unbroken 
silence  lay  heavily  on  all  around  me,  and  I  was 
alone.  One  fearful  agonised  glance  round 
and  I  knew  the  truth.  Like  a  madman,  I 
sprang  to  the  cabin  door  and  tore  it  open. 
Thence  I  fled  down  the  passage,  up  the  com- 
panion stairs  and  reached  the  deck.  The  night 
was  silent,  moonless,  and  serene:  in  majestic 
state  we  were  steaming  eastwards  between 
tranquil  sea  and  sky.  At  the  head  of  the  com- 
panion stair  I  gave  a  tremendous  shout  of 
"Man  overboard,"  which  went  echoing  through 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  vessel.  On  the 
bridge  a  solitary  figure  was  pacing.  It 

261 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

stopped  suddenly.  I  looked  up.  It  was  the 
captain. 

"Harrison  is  overboard.  Stop  the  ship," 
I  shouted  to  him  madly  as  I  rushed  to  the  star- 
board side  and  leaped  over  the  light  iron 
railing. 

After  the  first  plunge,  when  I  came  to  the 
surface,  I  struck  out  as  nearly  as  I  could  tell 
in  a  direct  line  back  over  our  course,  straining 
my  eyes  over  the  level  expanse.  Nothing  met 
them  on  every  side  but  that  horrible,  black, 
serene,  and  shimmering  plain,  swaying  and 
undulating  in  ripple  behind  ripple,  smoothly 
and  silently  rising  and  falling  under  the  light 
of  the  stars.  A  glance  back  at  the  red  lights 
behind  told  me  I  was  already  far  astern  of 
the  ship.  There  was  a  wild  instinctive  expec- 
tation in  my  brain  that  I  should  find  her. 
Each  minute  my  straining  eyes  seemed  to  see 
a  white  arm  raised  for  help,  my  ears  seemed 
breaking  in  an  agonised  listening  for  a  cry, 
but  I  swam  on,  and  there  was  nothing  but  the 
murmur  of  the  water  breaking  at  my  neck; 
nothing  before  my  eyes  but  the  swelling  up- 
heaval of  these  perpetually  rising  and  sinking 
smooth-breasted  ripples.  I  shouted  her  name, 
and  the  boundless  space  seemed  to  mock  me. 
There  was  no  response  but  the  soft  lap  of  the 

2>)2 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

water.  Then  it  burst  upon  me  in  one  sudden, 
blinding  crash  that  I  had  lost  her,  irrevocably, 
utterly,  finally.  The  conviction,  the  realisa- 
tion came  like  a  stroke  of  lightning,  that  I 
should  never,  could  never  find  her.  She  had 
vanished  beneath  this  level,  limitless,  trackless, 
superficies ;  it  had  closed  over  her,  and  she  was 
gone  from  me  for  ever.  Vanished — swallowed 
up  in  that  smooth,  black  plain  that  would  hold 
its  secret  eternally.  She  was  beneath  it  some- 
where, but  where?  where?  I  had  no  trace  and 
no  clue.  Possessed  by  that  delirious  longing 
to  escape  from  me,  to  hide  herself  from  me, 
she  had  flung  herself  upon  this  wide,  all-re- 
ceiving bosom,  and  it  had  accepted  her;  she 
was  folded  to  It  in  a  never-lasting  oblivion. 
It  would  never  give  her  up  to  me.  She  was 
gone  forth  front  me.  She  had  passed  away 
out  of  my  life,  and  left  me  an  undying  re- 
proach. And  all  our  passion  was  over,  gone 
like  the  breath  on  a  mirror.  Never  through- 
out infinite  time  should  I  see  that  face,  or 
touch  those  lips,  or  hold  that  form  again. 
These  things  were  now  and  for  ever  hencefor- 
ward, of  the  past.  I  had  lost  her,  and  through 
whose  fault?  What  shall  be  said  of  the  man 
found  asleep  at  his  post?  The  stars  seemed 
rushing  together  over  my  head,  the  heavens 

263 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

to  descend  and  mingle  with  the  waters.     I 
ceased  to  swim. 

If  I  might  sink  to  her  side — if  but  this  heav- 
ing water  would  throw  us  together,  though  it 
were  but  two  corpses  that  would  meet  in  a 
will-less  embrace. 

Sense  came  back  to  me  when  I  was  being 
dragged  on  board  ship.  The  boats,  unable  to 
find  her,  had  brought  me  back  alone  to  the 
horror  of  existence.  I  stood  upright  on  the 
deck,  and  knew  that  she  was  dead  and  I  was 
living.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  confusion 
round  me. 

I  saw  a  group  of  frightened-looking  women 
huddled  against  the  saloon  door,  and  they 
stared  at  me.  The  men  came  round  me.  The 
captain  and  the  doctor  spoke  to  me.  Then 
some  one  said,  "What  is  it  all?"  And  an- 
other said,  "Was  it  an  accident?"  And  an- 
other, "Look  at  his  hand;  look  at  the  blood!" 
And  another,  "It  seems  as  if  there  had  been  a 
struggle."  And  another,  "Did  he  throw  him 
out?"  And  another,  "Perhaps  he  murdered 
him!"  And  I  looked  at  them  all  and  laughed, 
and  the  women  shrank  farther  from  me. 

Murdered  her !  I  thought.  Not  I,  but  the 
egoism  of  men's  love,  that  gave  birth  to  that 

264 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

delirious  fear  of  me,  instead  of  the  sweet  con- 
fidence and  trust  with  which  she  should  have 
come  back  to  my  arms.  In  her  reasoning  mo- 
ments, indeed,  I  had  been  able  to  convince  her, 
that  of  me,  she  need  have  no  terror.  Her 
death  had  been  involuntary,  I  knew.  Had 
not  her  last  conscious  words  been,  "I  love  you"? 
But  in  the  delirium,  the  instinctive  knowledge 
of  what  men  are,  the  intuitive  sense  of  how 
little  strain  their  love  will  bear,  and  the  dread 
born  of  both,  these  had  oppressed  and  haunted 
her.  Had  I  not  watched  these  torturing  her 
for  hour  after  hour  as  she  raved  to  me  about 
myself?  Still  in  my  ears  sounded  those  last 
terrible  soliloquies,  those  low-toned,  delirious 
confidences  :— 

"Cecil  is  not  here — no — but  when  I  go  back 
to  him — it's  no  use  going  back  if  I've  lost  my 
looks — I  wish  I  had  a  glass  here — where  is 
Hester? — Hester,  I  would  go  to  her — Hester 
would  always  be  nice  to  me — but  men  only 
care  for  a  woman  for  what  they  can  get  out 
of  her  — their  love  is  of  no  worth — you  can't 
rely  on  them — I  can't  meet  him — no;  take  me 
away  from  him — I  must  get  away — I  know 
what  his  voice  will  be — so  cruelly  cold — he 
thinks  I  ought  to  have  liked  being  shot,  and 
as  I  didn't  he  will  not  forgive  me — he  never 

265 


SIX  CHAPTERS  OF 

has  been  cold — no;  but  then  I  was  beautiful 
— Hester,  I  was  always  considered  beautiful, 
wasn't  I? — and  I  knew  how  to  play  upon  his 
feelings — he  loved  his  own  pleasure — they  are 
all  alike — I  doubt  if  he  could  love  impersonally 
1 — I  wish  I  had  a  glass — my  face  will  dis- 
gust him — and  the  whole  thing — and  then  he'll 
talk  about  his  honour — men  always  do  when 
they  want  to  get  rid  of  a  woman — and  I  can't 
live  without  him — oh,  Hester,  Hester."  And 
these  thoughts  had  murdered  her. 

I  looked  at  the  captain.  "Kindly  explain 
this  business,  Mr.  Ray,"  he  said.  I  laughed 
aloud. 

"Explain?"  I  said.  "What  is  there  to  ex- 
plain? I  was  unable  to  keep  awake  any 
longer,  and  while  I  was  asleep  he  threw  him- 
self from  the  window,  as  he  had  twice  tried  to 
do  before  when  delirious.  For  the  rest,  you 
can  ask  the  doctor  if  I  were  likely  to  murder 
him!"  and  I  turned  away  from  them. 

"For  God's  sake,  watch  him,"  I  heard  the 
captain  say,  "or  we  shall  have  a  suicide  as  well 
as  an  accident." 

Some  young  fellow  followed  me  and  took 
my  arm.  I  let  him,  and  I  walked  on  blindly 
up  the  deck.  He  spoke  to  me.  "Change 

266 


A  MAN'S  LIFE 

your  clothes.  .  .  .  Let  some  one  bind  up 
your  wrist.  .  .  ." 

I  neither  understood  nor  answered. 

We  were  going  onward — onward  and  leav- 
ing her  behind,  and  my  life  with  her.  And 
the  reproach  within  me  seemed  to  wring  my 
soul.  I  neither  regretted  nor  condemned  my 
passion  for  her:  passion  is  the  loved  one's  due 
and  the  source  of  the  loved  one's  pleasure.  I 
would  not  wish  any  love  to  be  passionless;  this 
is  for  the  moralists  to  urge.  Passion  and  de- 
sire are  the  very  soul  and  vitality  of  love.  It 
is  monstrous  to  strike  at  them;  impossible  to 
kill  them.  But  its  egoism.  This  is  an  amor- 
phous, cancerous  growth,  and  this  consumes 
and  eats  away  the  whole  constitution  of  our 
love.  Let  us  cut  this  out.  This  had  killed 
Theodora,  as  it  has  killed,  directly  and  indi- 
rectly, its  millions. 

When  the  dawn  broke  we  came  into  Aden, 
and  they  put  me  ashore — alone. 


THE  END. 


FAMOUS  NOVELS  BY 
VICTORIA    CROSS 


HILDA  AGAINST  THE  WORLD 

Fancy  a  married  man,   denied   divorce  by  law,   falling  desperately 
in  love  with  a  charming  woman. 

THE  NIGHT  OF  TEMPTATION 

The   self-sacrifice   of   woman   in   love.      Regina,    the   heroine,   gives 
herself  to  a  man  for  his  own  sake. 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  KLONDIKE 

A  stirring  story  of  love,   intrigue  and   adventure,  woven   about  a 
proud,  reckless  heroine. 

SIX  WOMEN 

A  half-dozen  of  the  most   vivid   love   stories   that   ever  lit  up  the 
dusk  of  tired  civilization. 

THE  LIFE  SENTENCE 

A  beautifully  written  story,  full  of  life,  nature,  passion  and  pathos. 

SIX  CHAPTERS  OF  A  MAN'S  LIFE 

There   is   no   mistaking   the   earnestness   of   the   morality   which   it 
enforces. 

TO-MORROW 

Critics  agree  that  this  is  Victoria  Cross'  greatest  novel. 


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THE  RED  LANTERN,  by  Edith  Wherry. 

A  novel  of  deep  under-currents,  with  a  theme  that  wakes  the 
pulses  of  the  heart  and  fills  the  imagination  with  the  irresistible  lure 
ot  secret  Asia. 

THE  SIGN  OF  FREEDOM,  by  Arthur  Goodrich. 

The  pinnacle  of  real  old-fashioned,  bred-in-the-bpne  patriotism, 
made  militant  by  love,  tender  and  true,  and  steadfast,  is  the  theme  of 
this  story — and  the  hero,  David  Warburton,  like  the  David  of  old,  is  a 
"Corker."  You  will  love  his  absorbing  tale. 

THE  AZURE  ROSE,  by  Reginald  Wright  Kauffman. 

A  delightful  love  romance  of  a  young  American :  handsome,  witty 
and  daring — and  a  beautiful  girl :  attractive,  mysterious  and  coming 
nobody  knows  whence.  Set  against  the  picturesque  background  of 
the  Latin  Quarter  of  Paris. 

UNEASY  MONEY,  by  Pelham  Grenville  Wodehouse. 

Clean,  clever,  packed  full  of  wit  and  humor,  like  all  of  Wode- 
house's  tales,  in  this  one  he  outdoes  himself.  Imagine  yourself  trying 
to  give  away  a  fortune,  and,  finding  the  one  girl  to  give  it  to — who 
won't  have  it  at  any  price — a  bully  good  yarn. 

WOLF-LURE,  by  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 

Love,  Adventure  Political  Intrigue,  Mystery  Rivalry,  Vaulting  Am- 
bition. Pride  which  goeth  before  a  fall,  and  the  light  pride  of  per- 
sonal honor  and  of  conquest — all  are  here  in  this  amazingly  absorb- 
ing tale  of  the  "Greatest  Thing  in  the  World" — Love. 

UP  THE  ROAD  WITH  SALLIE,  by  Frances  R.  Sterrett. 

This  tale  of  a  most  astounding  abduction  told  by  the  author  of 
"The  Jam  Girl!"  will  thrill  you  with  the  most  surprising  adventures 
you  have  ever  encountered.  Sallie  Waters'  plot  for  the  winning  of  a 
fortune — and  her  sweetheart,  too,  is  compelling  and  fascinating. 

HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED,  by  J.  B.  Ellis. 

A  delightful  story  with  thrills  aplenty  when  a  bewitching  girl  ap- 
pears mysteriously  out  of  the  night  and  exerts  a  strange  influence 
over  several  people. 

THE  DIARY  OF  MY  HONEYMOON,  Anonymous. 

A  work  of  intense  and  throbbing  humanity,  appearing  in  the 
cloak  of  fiction,  in  which  the  moral  is  sound  throughout  and  plain  to 
see. 


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DETECTIVE    AND 
MYSTERY  STORIES 


THE  GOLDEN  TRIANGLE,   (The   Return  of  Arsene 
Lupin),  by  Maurice  Le Blanc. 

Dashing  Arsene  Lupin  is  the  center  of  a  fascinating  detective 
story  in  which  mystery,  intrigue  and  romance  are  breathlessly  blended. 

THE  WOMAN  OF  MYSTERY,  by  Maurice  LeBlanc. 

One  of  the  best  stories  ever  written  by  the  creator  of  the  fas- 
cinating Arsene  Lupin.  It  is  full  of  mystery,  stirring  incidents  and 
adventure,  while  the  love  interest  is  strong. 

THE  BLACK  EAGLE  MYSTERY,  by  Geraldine  Bonner. 

Author  of   "The   Girl  at   Central" 

Sharp  detective  work,  excitement,  mystery  and  a  bit  of  romance 
— a  clue  that  seems  to  lead  direct  to  a  young  and  beautiful  woman 
as  the  guilty  person. 

THE  GIRL  AT  CENTRAL,  by  Geraldine  Bonner. 

Author  of  "The  Black  Eagle  Mystery,''  etc. 

This  is  a  clever  detective  story,  containing  two  themes  absolutely 
new  and  unfathomable. 

THE   LADY    OF   MYSTERY    HOUSE,  by   George   C. 
Shedd. 

A  swift-moving  tale  of  mystery  and  romance,  seasoned  with  the 
spice  of  danger  and  just  enough  love-making  to  suit  everyone  from 
sixteen  to  sixty. 

UNDER    FIRE,   Based    on    the    drama    of   Roi    Cooper 
Megrue. 

Author  of  "Under  Cover." 
A  gripping  and  romantic  tale  of  love  and  adventure. 

THE  OFFICIAL  CHAPERON,  by  Natalie  Sumner  Lin- 
coln. 

Author  of  "C.   O.  D.,'»  etc. 

The  author  has  created  a  situation  that  will  keep  you  guessing 
right  up  to  the  last  page  of  the  very  last  chapter  of  the  book.  A 
mystery  romance  that  you  are  sure  to  recommend. 


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THE    LADY    OF    THE    NIGHT    WIND,    by    Varick 
Vanardy. 

Another — and  the  greatest  and  best  one — of  Varick  Vanardy's 
compelling  and  thrilling  NIGHT  WIND  romances  which  will  hold 
you  under  the  lamp-shade  in  the  easy  chair  until  you  have  finished 
reading  it. 

THE  TWO-FACED  MAN,  by  Varick  Vanardy. 

Plots  and  counterplots  appear  with  great  frequency  in  this  quick- 
moving,  spirited  detective  story.  It  abounds  with  many  dramatic 
situations. 

THE  GIRL  BY  THE  ROADSIDE,  by  Varick  Vanardy. 

An  ingenious  thrilling  mystery  story  woven  about  a  charming 
woman  who  descends  from  nowhere  or  anywhere  upon  the  bungalow 
of  a  youthful  but  confirmed  bachelor. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  NIGHT,  by  Gaston  Leroux; 

As  a  narrative  of  mystery,  wrought  out  in  the  most  interesting 
and  thrilling  manner,  "The  Secret  of  the  Night"  is  without  a  peer. — 
Salt  Lake  City  Tribune. 

THE  GREEN  TREE  MYSTERY,  by  Roman  Doubleday. 

The  work  of  solving  the  mystery  develops  into  a  series  of  ex- 
citing experiences  filled  to  the  brim  with  thrills  and  into  which  are 
woven  romance,  intrigue,  confidence  and  treachery. 

THE  INNOCENCE  OF  FATHER  BROWN,  by  Gilbert 
K.  Chesterton. 

Author  of  "The  Wisdom  of  Father  Brown,"  etc. 
Father  Brown  has  a  penchant  for  delving  into  the  mysterious  and 
displays  acute  mental  acumen  in  the  solution  of  these  mysteries. 

THE  WISDOM  OF  FATHER  BROWN,  by  Gilbert  K. 
Chesterton. 

As  a  detective.  Father  Brown  outdoes  Sherlock  Holmes  and  sur- 
passes Lupin.  Those  who  read  and  enjoyed  "The  Innocence  of 
Father  Brown"  will  be  eager  to  read  Mr.  Chesterton's  further  series. 


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ADVENTURE,  ROMANCE  AND  LOVE 

WHOSO  FINDETH  A  WIFE,  by  J.  Wesley  Putnam. 

This  modern  romance  constitutes  an  argument  against  the  ten- 
dency to  exalt  what  is  termed  "Natural  Law"  over  God's  Law. 

THE  WHIP,  by  Richard  Parker. 

"This  stirring  story  and  its  interwound  thread  of  love,  will  doubt- 
less win  for  it  many  readers." — New  York  Times. 

THE   JOYOUS   ADVENTURES    OF   ARISTIDE   PU- 
JOL, by  William  J.  Locke. 

With  breathless  interest  we  follow  Aristide's  career  until,  with  a 
chuckle  and  a  sigh  of  regret,  we  close  the  book  on  his  last  adven- 
ture— that  of  matrimony. 

EVE,  JUNIOR,  by  Reginald  Heber  Patterson. 

A  young  engineer,  in  the  coast  survey  service,  stumbles  upon  a 
girl  on  an  island — and  most  entertaining  adventures.  Through  a  su- 
preme self-sacrifice,  the  girl — Eve,  Junior — finds  herself  outside  her 
little  paradise.  But  in  the  end  a  happy  turji  of  events  reinstates  her 
on  the  island,  where  she  sets  to  work  to  make  a  new  Garden  of  Eden. 

THE  GIRL  FROM  NO.  13,  by  Reginald  Heber  Patterson. 

A  novel  of  optimism,  in  which  there  is  a  powerful  uplift.  A  girl, 
placed  in  a  false  position  through  no  fault  of  her  own,  and  rendered 
desperate  by  the  wall  of  convention  which  blocks  her  escape,  at  last 
finds  courage  and  strength  in  the  trust  of  a  clean,  highminded  man. 

THE  GOLDEN  HOPE,  by  Grace  Sartwell  Mason. 

Author  «f  "His  Wife's  Job,"  etc. 

The  irresistible  charm  of  the  West  is  woven  into  every  line  of 
this  delightful  story  and  calls  to  wider  freedom  of  life  and  love  grip 
the  reader  from  the  first. 

THE  MAN  NEXT  DOOR,  by  Emerson  Hough. 

Author  of   "The   Magnificent  Adventure,''   "The    Mississippi   Bubble," 
etc. 

You  will  find  love,  humor,  thrills  and  a  whirl  of  surprises  in  this 
romance.  The  lives  of  Old  Man  Wright,  the  typical  ranchman;  Bon- 
nie Bell,  his  daughter  and  Curly,  the  cowboy;  each  a  distinct  per- 
sonality, are  woven  into  this  vivid  fiery  tale. 

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STORIES  OF  WESTERN   LIFE 


TREASURE  AND  TROUBLE,  by  Geraldine  Bonner. 

The  wild  and  glowing  golden  West;  a  hold-up;  a  buried  treasure; 
outlaws  of  the  excitingly  adventurous  type,  and  something  new,  too, 
in  the  outlaw  line  in  the  shape  of  a  Social  Pirate ;  real  dyed-in-the- 
wool  bandits ;  miners  wlio  delve  for  the  riches  of  the  Earth ;  dazzling- 
ly  beautiful  women ;  youth — and  Love,  vivid  and  beautiful.. 

THE  SHERIFF  OF  BADGER,  by  George  E.  Pattullo. 

Lafe  Johnson — strong,  brave,  big-hearted  cowboy  of  the  higher 
type — through  his  courage  in  routing  a  gun-fighter,  is  hailed  as  a 
hero  and  made  Sheriff  of  Badger,  a  ranch  town  in  the  Southwest. 
The  story  is  more  than  interesting;  it  is  exciting,  and  the  vein  of 
romance  running  through  it  adds  to  its  strength  as  a  first  class  breezy 
Western  ranch  yarn. 

WOLFVILLE  FOLKS,  by  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Here  is  another  "Wolfville"  book.  The  characters  are  of  the 
picturesque  cowboy  type.  "Doc"  Seely,  "Cherokee  Bill,"  "Faro 
Nell,"  "The  Rose  of  Wolfville,"  etc.  The  novel  is  full  of  Western 
philosophy,  pistol  play,  gambling  duel,  and  a  remarkable  series  of 
romance  and  adventures.  A  lively  cowboy  novel. 

BILLY  FORTUNE,  by  William  R.  Lighten. 

Billy  Fortune,  able  cow-puncher  of  Wyoming,  is  a  chap  for  whom 
things  are  always  happening.  Billy  is  a  lover  of  life  in  all  its  heights 
and  depths,  with  a  special  fondness  for  the  frail  sex.  There  is  plenty 
of  swift  comedy  action  in  this  story  and  not  a  line  of  melancholy. 
And  incidentally  it  gives  one  a  splendid  picture  of  the  jocund  cow 
country  of  Wyoming. 

THE  COAST  OF  OPPORTUNITY,  by  Page  Philips. 

Author  of  "The  Trail  of  the  Waving  Palm" 

Unmistakably  a  work  struck  hot  from  the  forge  of  human  ex- 
perience, this  rapid-action  story  yields  a  wealth  of  intrigue  and  ad- 
venture to  all  lovers  of  stirring  romance. 

THE    TRAIL    OF    THE   WAVING    PALM,   by    Page 
Philips. 

"A  story  of  the  open  that  is  highly  captivating  throughout."— i 
Cincinnati  Times-Star. 

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